


Hunt You Down, Eat You Alive

by raendown, Red_Hot_Holly_Berries



Category: Naruto
Genre: Drama, F/M, Fucking Up, Gen, Hot Sex, Roleplay script, also bad life choices, and having to own up to them, excessive listening to Maroon 5's Animals, lotsa drama, lotsa flirting, seduction isn't a game when you hurt people
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-09
Updated: 2017-11-26
Packaged: 2018-12-25 16:16:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 80,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12039603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raendown/pseuds/raendown, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Red_Hot_Holly_Berries/pseuds/Red_Hot_Holly_Berries
Summary: Almost a year into her marriage, Mito discovers the reason her husband seems so uninterested in bed: he's gay. To spare themselves from the awkwardness of having sex, Mito suggests a compromise: that she finds herself a discreet lover, both to get the heirs the Senju clan needs and to have a bit of a good time herself - and Hashirama agrees.Now, Mito's eyes are set on Tobirama.He doesn't know it yet, but there's a hunter on the prowl. Let the game begin.





	1. Know Thy Enemy

**Author's Note:**

> So this is the script of the latest RP I did with the lovely Rae. It was fun and awesome. Yay for rarepair ships! Beware of emotional rollercoaster.  
> Come find us on Tumblr!  
> [Holly's Tumblr](http://redhothollyberries.tumblr.com/)  
> [Rae's Tumblr](https://raendown.tumblr.com/)

Mito: Holly  
Hashirama: Rae

  


Mito so does love autumn, especially here in Fire. Back in Uzushio, autumn means the start of winter storms, but here in Konoha it means cool breeze, the pleasing smell of rain in the air, the trees turning yellow and red. Sitting on the porch of her house, she sips her warm apple cider, honey and cinnamon on her tongue.  
The midday sun is still warm enough to make it pleasing, swinging her slippers-clad feet over the pretty flowers Hashirama grew for her.  
Life is not bad in Konoha. Looking down from the cloudless sky to the stone path to the house, she sees that her husband is walking towards her, wearing his training clothes and a huge smile. Looks like his spar with Tobirama went well. “Hello husband,” she says, standing up, her copper and blue kimono flowing easily with her. 

Hashirama dutifully greets his wife with a chaste kiss on the cheek before straightening to wipe at his brow again. He’s _hot_. Sparring with Tobirama is always an exercise in frustration and never fails to work him into a lather. For all that he is stronger than his brother, the younger man is swift and cunning - and he’s always working on new things. Hashirama simply doesn’t have the time that his brother does to come up with new jutsu or seals to be used in combat.  
Not that he is complaining. The village that he dreamed about since he was a young child skipping rocks on the river is now the reality that surrounds him. And the people chose _him_ to lead them in these new days of unprecedented peace. Each day that he wakes Hashirama feels more grateful, more blessed, in the things that he has been given in life.  
Mito smells of the cinnamon in her cup and it makes him smile. She’s a good match, a good choice, and despite some personal reservations he is glad to have her here. His wife is a beautiful woman, so much smarter than he could ever hope to be. She reminds him of Tobirama sometimes. If it weren’t for Madara he would easily call her his best friend.  
“Have you had a good morning?” he asks, leading them into the house. Tobirama worked him especially hard today and he is absolute soaked through with sweat. He’ll need to change his clothes and wipe down before the meeting he has this afternoon. 

Mito follows Hashirama inside, her feet not making a sound on the tatami floor. “I did. Nara Yuko came to me with specific request about enforcing a hunt ban in their deers. It was an interesting talk.” Hashirama nods at her to continue speaking, and she does, leaning against the frame of their bedroom door, watching her husband untie his obi and shrug off his sweat and dirt stained yukata.  
“They roam only on their lands, but she wants to make sure no one tries to poach them - and if anyone does, she wants full authority to deal with them however she pleases.” The Nara and their medicines are highly valued in the newborn Village, so Mito isn’t above playing favourites when it suits her. Also, whoever is stupid enough to try and steal from a Nara deserves what they get.  
Clad only in loose, knee-length trousers, Hashirama raises his arms high above his head, stretching his no-doubt sore back, displaying a marvellous show of rippling muscle. His shoulders are wide, muscles bulging out as he flexes his thick arms. A stray drop of sweat drips from his chin to his pectorals, running down toned abs.  
Mito would really, really like to catch that drop with her tongue. Damn, but her husband is handsome.  
“We came to a compromise I think you’ll approve of.” She smiles, thin and sharp like a blade, cocking a hip up as she approaches the Hokage.  
“You’ll have the paperwork on your desk by tomorrow,” she promises, tilting her head just so, the glass baubles and silver bells hanging from her buns jingling happily. Hashirama is a head taller than her, and she easily fits by his side, looking up at him with half-lidded eyes. He’s handsome, and she doesn’t hide her appreciation. 

There is a spark in Mito’s eyes that Hashirama feels a little guilty about deliberately ignoring. It’s possible he’s misinterpreting her. He’s not the best at reading people sometimes. (It’s what makes his brother so angry whenever he has to play politics)  
If she is after what he thinks she is after, however, he wonders if there is any polite way for him to decline without offering offense. There are some things he simply does not want, some things he has never explained to her.   
(She is his wife and he should be able to share all parts of himself with her yet this is a part that he has never shared with anyone before, a habit hard to break)  
Mito presses herself a little closer and he resists the urge to flinch away.  
“I’m certain I’ll approve,” he agrees mildly. “I have the utmost trust in you.”  
Absently, he raises the shirt still hanging from one hand to swipe at the droplets running down his chest. He’s never been a fan of being sweaty and he feels a little too sticky for his liking at the moment.  
“Any plans for the rest of the day?”  
If he hoped to distract her with conversation, he’s to be woefully disappointed. 

Mito knows men.  
She’s twenty eight, and lived all her life in a clan that didn’t stifle kunoichi nearly as much as Fire Clans do: being the first daughter of the Uzumaki Clan Head didn’t mean she had to live recluse like one of those weak noblewomen, a cherry blossom to be kept pure until she was sold to the highest bidder. Like all other girls in Uzushio, she trained in the ninja arts, she made friends, she fell in and out of love.  
Mito knows men. She can count on the experience of two long-lasting relationships, numerous flings, and of course the training her female relatives gave her in the art of using her body as a weapon.  
Mito knows men: it shouldn’t be as difficult as it is to relate with Hashirama.  
She knows how to attract all the eyes in a room, knows how to make her body glow in its beauty.   
Her husband never reacts. Oh, he looks at her, but his eyes quickly slide away. They never _linger_ , they never shine with desire. She cocks her head to show her pale neck, lips wet and parted, and he doesn’t _look_ , not the way she wants him to.  
Quirking a corner of her mouth, she comes up against him, trailing delicate fingers down his abs, breathing in his strong, masculine, musky scent, looking up at his warm brown eyes.  
The man is gentle, selfless, enthusiastic, all a girl could hope for in an arranged marriage. Mito honestly likes him: knowing his dream of bringing peace to a war-torn land, she easily gave her approval to the match, and happily lent her knowledge of politics to the goal of strengthening the village and the peace it stands for.  
Hashirama never once belittled her - she made it clear she would be no trophy wife, and he seemed happy to have found an ally, rather than a demure servant.  
And yet, for all that Mito is liking her life in Fire, still Hashirama won’t treat her like the woman she is.  
While he’s enthusiastic with physical demonstration of affection, he shies away from intimate touches. When they have sex, it’s quick and unsatisfying. If she asks something of him, he will do it, but without passion, like a _chore_ to be dealt with.  
Mito is too confident in her looks to let this make her doubt herself, but it’s slowly making her frustrated, riling her up. More and more, she makes open advances at him, pressing him. So when he asks of her plans, she all but purrs and caresses his chest, fingers brushing the start of a dark trail of hair disappearing in his pants. “I don’t have any,” she lies. “I’ve been feeling quite cold, I wouldn’t mind sharing a hot shower with you.” 

Hashirama blinks. That was more forward than even he has the ability to deflect. Still, he makes a passing attempt at playing dumb. It’s easier than it should be to let others assume him to be stupid sometimes.  
“Are you perhaps getting sick?” he asks in his most innocent voice. “It’s a little too warm for you to be feeling cold.”  
Still, just in case, he reaches out one hand to rub her arm a little. If she’s genuinely cold then he would be a bad husband - a bad person - if he didn’t try to help. The look he gets in return tell him that she isn’t cold and that his gesture is not appreciated.   
He retracts his hand and rubs at the back of his neck instead, feeling defeated.  
“I suppose a shower couldn’t hurt anyone,” he offers.  
Hashirama tries to sound enthusiastic about it, he really does. It’s hard when he doesn’t feel that way, though. 

It’s far from the reaction she hoped to elicit. She didn’t expect him to scramble to the bathroom like an overly-eager teenager, but at least a spark of interest?  
However, Mito is nothing if not patient, so she’ll take what she gets for now. Smiling, she approaches their closets and pulls a clean kimono for her and a yukata for Hashirama, giving her husband a small nod. With an uneasy smile, Hashirama leads the way to the bathroom, Mito walking beside him.  
There, Mito disrobes quickly, carefully folding her kimono beside the clean clothes. Caressing her hips and thighs, she saunters to the corner shower, turning the water on.  
Blessedly warm water hits her, and she hums in pleasure, throwing her head backwards to let the spray caress her chest and neck, her hands following the path of the water running down her body.  
When she looks up, Hashirama is still in the middle of the bathroom, his trousers and boxers bunched at his feet. He looks mighty nervous, and his body reflects it.  
With an inner sigh, Mito extends one hand to him. “Join me, husband?” she asks, her voice low and silky. Hashirama’s lack of enthusiasm is making her lose her own: if this goes on, she’ll lose all her libido by the time she’s thirty. 

Despite his wife’s efforts (and his brother’s before her) Hashirama has never been the tidiest person. He sees nothing wrong with kicking his clothing off to the side and leaving it bunched on the floor. This earns him yet another look that he pretends not to see, easier this time because there is no need to hide the slovenly habits that she is well aware of by now.  
“Of course,” he tells her, trying again to project an enthusiasm which simply isn’t there.  
He steps close, his chest assaulted by the spray that lashes her skin, rebounding off on to his own. Neither of them look down to where he hangs soft and unexcited, uninterested. He fights back the blush of embarrassment he wears each time she pursues him for similar activities.   
He agreed to this marriage. He stood at the end of the aisle and promised to cherish her in every way. And he does cherish her, of course. Just not in the ways she wants him to, not in the ways she deserves.  
Mito steps back a little, wordlessly inviting him closer, and he does so only to feel the water hitting him directly. He is, after all, still sweaty and dirty. He would like to get clean if nothing else. When he reaches around her for the soap he feels her fingers trailing along his arm and he wants to sigh.  
“The water isn’t all that warm,” he points out. “I thought you were cold?” 

Mito’s hand ascents up Hashirama’s arm, trailing the outline of hard muscle, then caressing the sharp line of his collarbone collarbone, fingers brushing the hollow under his adam’s apple. “Let’s raise the temperature,” she offers as her hand rises to cup the Senju’s cheek, gently coaxing him down for a kiss - and when he instead turns his head to nuzzle the palm of her hand, her other hand sneaks up to sink in the slick mass of his long hair, pulling him down to her level.  
His eyes are tightly shut - and while she could write that off as the water spray’s fault, she knows better. Hashirama never looks at her when he kisses her, never looks at her in the eyes when they have sex: if at all possible, he will default to positions where they can’t make eye contact.  
She swallows her frustrations. Baby steps. Obviously there’s something wrong with Hashirama, because she knows normal men and he’s most definitely not the norm.  
Their lips meet, her tongue flicking out to trace the seam of his, tasting salt and water. He’s passive, allowing her to deepen the kiss how she pleases. She presses herself up close to him, circling his shoulders with her arms, slipping a leg between his, pressing her thigh to his crotch - even though she knows that she will have to take him in hand to make him hard, just like always. 

With his eyes closed Hashirama can disappear inside his own mind, let his imagination fly. He pretends he is somewhere else with another person in his arms, the only one he has ever truly wanted there. The one he is certain he will never have.  
The pretending is broken down when Mito presses herself in on him, her thigh rubbing at his genitals in a manner meant to arouse yet having the exact opposite effect. It only makes it more obvious to his mind who he is holding, whose tongue is boldly exploring his mouth.   
He tries hard to concentrate only on the few pleasant aspects. She tastes of cinnamon, the cider lingering on her lips, and it’s nice. She’s not bad at kissing, which is a bonus, though he’d rather they didn’t have to. Her skin is smooth and that’s kind of nice as well, he supposes, though his preference runs more towards body hair.   
He gives a small hum as though pleased because he thinks it is expected. He _should_ be pleased. He feels guilty that he isn’t.  
He should also take a more active role and yet he cannot bring himself to. He should be cupping her bottom to grind them together but it would bring him no pleasure. He should trace her sides and cup her breasts but the very thought is off-putting. In the end he settles for the same thing as he usually does: he frames her face with both hands and runs one of them soothingly down her neck. Here, as well, her skin is too smooth. But here is where her curves are the least pronounced and he can pretend the easiest. 

Unless Mito forcibly takes his hands and puts them on her breasts, he never touches her. Pressed against her husband, engaged in this mockery of a kiss, she thinks back to how Kajiro used to eagerly worship her body with his hands and tongue, thinks back to how Dansei’s eyes darkened with lust when she undressed for him, thinks back to the secret smile Yoi used to give her when he emerged from kissing her flower, his lips glistening with her wetness. She thinks to how it used to be, to how it _should_ be, and suddenly she feels cold despite the hot water and the veritable furnace she’s holding in her arms.  
Who is she kidding? The water dribbling down her legs is just that, water: no matter how gorgeous Hashirama is, the sight of him naked isn’t enough to _really_ excite her anymore, not when she knows that three out of four times it’ll end with awkward excuses, disappointment and silent promises to be patient. In eight months of marriage she’s orgasmed only ever from her fingers - how sad is that?  
With a barely-hidden scoff of irritation, she pulls away and sets about soaping herself up, turning her back to her useless husband. 

Hashirama is surprised but not exactly disappointed when Mito suddenly pulls away from him. He blinks rapidly as she turns into the spray and begins to soap herself down, almost as if he suddenly isn’t there anymore.   
It’s not the first time she’s seemed to lose interest in the middle of her efforts and if he’s being honest he has to admit that he is quite relieved. He would never call Mito a chore but the act itself...well, that’s a bit different. Isn’t doing something you don’t want to always considered a chore?   
With a slow breath in, he releases the tension that had been gathering in his shoulders. Then he reaching out to pat hers gently.  
“Not in the mood after all?” he asks, injecting some sympathy in to his voice. “That’s alright Mito. I wasn’t really in the mood either.” 

Mito freezes up.  
He didn’t really say that. He didn’t.  
The impotent man she got saddled with didn’t just mock her for ‘not being in the mood’, did he?  
Slowly, she turns her head to look over her shoulder - but no, not only she heard perfectly well, he’s wearing a sad, sympathetic face, like he’s sorry she didn’t manage to get it up for him. He’s looking down on her as if it’s _her_ fault.  
He’s so tall the crown of his head brushes the showerhead, he’s so wide Mito can easily hide behind his frame, his biceps are almost the width of her thighs - but all his muscles don’t fucking help him when, in a flash, she slams him against the tiled wall, at the same time pulling out the hairpin of her right bun. In less than the blink of an eye, Mito has Hashirama pressed against the wall, one hand wrapped around his throat and the other pressing the sharp end of the hairpin in his crotch.  
She’s small, but she’s been a kunoichi all her life, and knows how to hold her own against a bigger opponent. Her fingers press into his trachea, ready to choke, and the hairpin is pricking at the delicate skin beside the scrotum, ready to draw blood.  
(He should be glad she voluntarily missed the vulnerable femoral artery.)  
The Senju is a smart man, for he doesn’t try to wriggle out of her hold: no matter how strong he is, there is no way for him to push her off of him without ending with ten centimeters of steel where it _hurts_.  
“You dare _mock_ me, Senju?” she hisses, furious, uncaring of the bun unravelling under the water spray. 

Hashirama would squeak in fright if he were even a fraction less trained. It’s easy to forget how fierce his wife is when she usually presents herself as so demure. It’s easy to forget that’s it’s all an act, a deliberate ruse to fool the casual onlooker, to make others underestimate her.   
“M-mock? I didn’t mean to mock you!”   
He holds both hands up in surrender and stays as still as possible. He’s not sure if he’s more worried for his windpipe or his genitals. They’re both very precious to him and he’s not really ready to have either one of them torn out by the woman he appears to have accidentally enraged.   
(Not, he thinks, that he wouldn’t deserve it. It isn’t Mito’s fault that he doesn’t find her interesting enough. It isn’t Mito’s fault that he is so bad at pretending)  
“I’m sorry!”  
In a bid to show her how willing he is to surrender, that he will not fight back, Hashirama closes his eyes and tilts his chin up to bare his throat. He prays that she will have mercy even as he knows that he will not hold it against her if she chooses not to. 

Like he often does when he argues with her or with Tobirama, her husband gives up fighting entirely, going belly-up like a puppy. Generally, it’s humbling how such a mighty man would bow to her wishes to make her happy, making her step off, but not this time.  
This time Mito doesn’t concede him a graceful defeat, holding her position like the soldier she is, her hands firm and steady. She won’t kill him, of course she won’t, but she isn’t above tussling him up a bit to make her point, not when all ninja learn their lessons through steel and blood.  
“You _were_ mocking me,” she corrects him, her words clear and cold. “I’ll ask you to keep your comments the same place you keep your dignity,” she bits, chillingly polite. “Oh, excuse me. You don’t have any.”  
Hashirama doesn’t outright move, but his body twitches ever so slightly, his legs inching the tiniest bit closer, his thighs contracting, as if to shy away from the bite of Mito’s steel. “Perhaps I should cut it off. It’s not like you have any use for it, after all. I wonder what would your Elders say if they knew their Clan Head was impotent,” she snides. 

Hashirama gapes at her, both stunned and horrified.   
And also a little stung in that small pocket where he keeps his pride. He doesn’t have much compared to many others but he _is_ a man. Men tend to be rather prideful creatures about certain things.  
“I’m not _impotent!_ ” he protests against his better judgment.  
He’s always had this problem where the words slip out before he has a chance to think about the consequences that might come of them. He only realizes he’s done this again now when the fire in her eyes grows hotter, until he feels the lick of heat in his very bones. She is molten in her rage and he may very soon become the ash she leaves in her wake.  
The pin against his lower half presses just a fraction of a millimeter closer and Hashirama trembles. She would really do it, he realizes as he looks at her. She truly will castrate him if he does not diffuse this situation. It’s a terrible and incredible thing to wrap his mind around.  
He hasn’t been this terrified since he was a child. 

“Aren’t you?” she mocks him in a saccharine voice, raising one elegant eyebrow. “Could have fooled me, husband dearest.”  
Hashirama’s eyes are wide like a spooked horse’s, every muscle in his body coiled like a spring. She can feel the tendons under her hand shift and tense, can feel his adam’s apple bob as he speaks - if only she tightened her grip a bit, she could feel the blood pulsing in his carotid artery.   
(This is not the first time she wraps her fingers around a man’s throat, squeezing, and it won’t be the last.)  
Mito can’t understand how such a gentle, noble man can be so… So useless in bed. Senju Hashirama is very nearly perfect, why couldn’t he be just a tad better? Why can’t Mito read him, why can’t he be like all other men?  
“I can understand preferences, maybe I’m not your type. Well, _too bad for you_ , you’re not my favourite either, but you don’t seem able to suck it up and man up. What does it say about your balls when your woman can deal with this marriage’s issues better than you?” 

Hashirama should really continue to panic about the sharp pointy object near his precious bits. He really should.  
Instead he starts to panic that she will continue to ask questions.   
He gives vent to an awkward laugh, a little hysterical sounding.   
“I...uh...well you’ve always been the better of the two of us, my dear wife.”  
His brain is disgustingly empty of things to say. As Madara likes to tell him, he can blather on all day even when he has nothing to say. Now he badly needs those words and they fail him. He needs something to say to turn her thoughts, her eyes, her anger in another direction.  
Somewhere where she will not discover the secret that he has kept hidden his whole life.  
(What terrifies him the most is that if she asks he knows he will tell her. Not because he is scared and not because she is threatening him - rather because she deserves the truth after how little he has given her in this marriage) 

There he goes, giving in again. For a man so strong on the battlefield, so mighty when it comes to defending the ideals on which his village is based, he’s terribly weak against those he loves.  
(Hashirama isn’t in love with her and Mito isn’t in love with him, but if their wedding achieved something, it’s that it brought them close, forcing each to learn all about the other in a terribly short span of time in order to adjust to living together. Mito doesn’t love him, but she feels for him, and she thought that, in time, she might learn to love him for real like her mother loves her father.)  
Uzumaki Mito doesn’t care for love, right now - she cares for answers, she cares for some peace of mind. She’s never going to get a more advantageous situation than now. “Is it me? Do you find me ugly? Are your beauty standards so far from the norm, in your clan?” Her grey eyes are fixed on her husband’s face, taking in every twitch, every shift of expression.  
“Or is it that are you in love with another woman? You said you had no one when we married. Did you lie?” Mito pulls a grimace. “I won’t hurt her. I just want to _know_.” 

“ _Hurt_ -!”  
Hashirama fails to hold in a second hysterical laugh at the very thought. The idea of Mito attempting such a thing is disastrous even just inside his own mind. He can’t imagine the titanic clash it would be in reality.   
“I’m not in love with another woman, I swear.”  
He might evade and squirm and deflect, but a liar Hashirama is not. He isn’t lying. He just isn’t telling her the whole truth. It counts, he thinks.  
“Mito, my sweet flower, I swear on my life that there has never been another woman in my life but you!” 

She can’t tighten her grip on his throat only because she needs him to talk, so instead she raises the pressure of the hairpin on the delicate skin of Hashirama’s groin. Mito knows her hairpins well, so she can feel the minuscule giving in: she doesn’t need to look down to know that she pricked the skin, probably drawing a small drop of blood, not when she can see the tiny shudder of pain going through the Senju’s body, plain as day.  
“Then tell me why you can’t get it up, would you? Why don’t you do your duty as husband? How do you suppose you’ll get the Senju heirs your Elders crave for, exactly?” 

It’s a good thing that they’re still in the shower, he thinks distantly, because he’s sweating again.   
His eyes slide to one side and he takes a slow breath in, shaky on the release. He’d _really_ hoped she wouldn’t ask because he can already feel that terrible honesty riding up in his throat.  
“I really am sorry,” he says again. “You’re just not my _type_.”  
She growls and he swallows thickly. She’s going to make him say it outright, isn’t she? “You’re a woman, sweet wife. A woman.”  
He can’t look at her, can’t watch for how she reacts. He’s very aware of how unusual most people would think his tastes are. There are even factions that see people like him as disgusting, aberrations. It’s impossible to know what someone’s opinion will be until you have watched them react to it.  
There is also, of course, the possibility that this intelligent creature will figure out the rest of his secret, extrapolate his train of thought from just one little admission. He pleads with her in his mind not to think about it too much, not to see what he has been hiding in plain sight since he was an awkward twelve year old with a bad bowl cut. 

Mito blinks - once, twice, disbelief clear on her face.  
(She doesn't let Hashirama go, though.)  
“You're gay,” she says, deadpan. It sounds so absurd, for the Hokage to be gay, but - but it makes _sense_. How her husband has no interest in her body, how she never caught him looking at any women, how he fiercely protected young Tosa when he was outed as gay a few months ago, how he refuses to go to the public onsen with his brother…  
“Tobirama doesn't know you're gay,” Mito says with no small amount of awe. She says it with utter certainty because when she married Hashirama, Tobirama told her everything that ever happened in the brothers’ life, every dark secret of their clan, to be prepared in case something from their past were to be turned against the leaders of the Village. And this? Oh, if back then Tobirama had known his brother was gay, he would have told Mito, because this is the kind of secret that can topple a leader.  
“Why doesn't he know?” She wonders out loud - in a weird way, it makes sense for Hashirama to be gay, in hindsight: everything fits. What doesn't make sense is for Tobirama not to know, considering how close the two brother are. Tobirama loves Hashirama a lot - bordering on too much, in Mito’s opinion - and he would accept his sibling's orientation with nary a blink. If anything, Tobirama would make sure no one ever discovered the secret. So why…  
“Oh kami. _Uchiha Madara_.”  
It's but a wild guess, but the almost comic widening of her husband's eyes and his croaking gasp tells her she got it right.  
There is no other reason why Hashirama wouldn't confess being gay to Tobirama, except if being gay also implied being in some kind of relationship with the single person Tobirama despises the most.  
Who also happens to be the person Mito dislikes the most in Konoha.  
“The _Uchiha_!?” she asks, horrified and outraged. 

“I can’t help it!” Hashirama wails back at her.  
She looks - she looks like his worst nightmare. She looks like every reason he keeps this part of himself shamefully hidden away. He cannot help but picture that expression on Madara’s face if he were to find out how Hashirama feels. He cannot help but picture that expression on Tobirama’s face.   
But again, he is no liar. He truly cannot help but want his best friend.  
Madara has been everything to him since they were young. He understands the other man like no other person else does, knows every bit of him, knows the gentleness of his personality that no one else gets to see.   
Not to mention how utterly _gorgeous_ he is. Hashirama has dreams of those hands, that hair, those eyes. He dreams of those legs around his waist and sinking inside that warm, tightly muscled body. It is these dreams that he escapes to when he needs to arouse himself to lay with his wife, to whom he has absolutely no attraction - each and every time desperately praying that this will be the time she gets pregnant, finally allowing him to stop going through this shame.  
She is not Madara and he will never want her like he wants Madara.   
“I can’t help who I love,” he points out faintly.  
Even if he could, he isn’t sure if he would stop. It would hurt less to watch from a distance and desire something that certainly will never be his, this is true. But at the same time he knows that there is no one else in this world that he could ever see so perfectly.   
He’s loathe to look to Mito and find out how she sees _him_ now. He knows of her distaste for his best friend. It’s the same reason he’s never told Tobirama of his proclivities. He’s not sure his brother would be very supportive of his desires so long as they were aimed at the one Tobirama hates most in this world.  
“I am so sorry, Mito. I tried.”  
Tried to not be so desperately, stupidly in love.  
Tried to force himself to find her attractive.  
Tried to be a better husband.  
He has tried all of these things and all of them, he knows, he has failed. 

“He is a lying, hypocrite prick,” she says, mouth slanted in a grimace of distaste as she steps back. Back when she moved into Konoha, Tobirama’s obvious distaste for him would have been enough to give her an unfavourable opinion of the Uchiha, but on their very first meeting the man saw fit to solidify her dislike by utterly dismissing her and making some rather unflattering sexist comments. Needless to say, Mito joined Tobirama in doing their best to make his life hell: considering that the former has great influence in every single social circle in the Village and that the latter dominates the newborn administration court, it wasn’t hard to slip a quiet word here and there, throwing a wrench in every work of the Uchiha Clan Head.  
“I knew you had bad taste, but this takes the cake.” She puts her hairpin between her teeth, quickly pulling up her wet hair into a loose bun, fixing it again with the pretty steel needle. “Couldn’t you have the hots for someone who’s not a walking liability? Like Tetsuo? Or Shiranui Moto? If you’re so fixed with the Uchiha, even _Hikaku_ would have been a better choice.”  
Groaning, she drags her hands down her face, sluicing off the water running down her cheeks. She doesn’t know what’s throwing her off more, Hashirama being gay or him liking _Uchiha fucking Madara_.  
A deep breath, and she regains her wits, shooting her man a cold glare. “Are you in a _relationship_ with him, dear husband?” her voice deceptively sweet. 

It’s a relief not to have any of his body parts in immediate danger anymore - for about two seconds. Then she asks if the two of them are in a relationship and Hashirama chokes on his own air, eyes bulging out of his head.  
“NO!” he shrieks, heat flooding his face and hands waving frantically through the air. “No of course not! Why would - that’s not - I - !”  
Mito is looking at him as though she is worried for his continued mental health (not an uncommon look, he’s ashamed to admit) and it makes him drop his head back against the tiled wall behind him.   
“Madara doesn’t feel the same way, of course. He doesn’t even know of my feelings.”  
Hashirama is suddenly very aware that they are both still nude, standing next to the running showerhead. Like most political marriages they had been little more than strangers to each other when they had said their vows. He brings his head back down to consider her while she fiddles with her hair. He’ll never be _in_ love with her the way he should be but…  
“You do know that I love you, right? Like...like a sister? Or a friend.”  
Madara likes to scoff and call him a puppy, his heart riding so obviously on his sleeve, and generally Hashirama would agree with him. He likes to make sure that his important people _know_ they are important to him. He can’t, for obvious reasons, tell Madara the full truth. And his brother grumps and growls when Hashirama tries to be affectionate. But Mito, his incredible partner, he hopes she knows how much she means to him. 

She looks at him for a long, long moment, her grey eyes locked with his warm brown ones. For all that he hasn’t tried to approach her, leaning against the tiled wall of the shower, there is a tension to him, the way he tilts his shoulders, the curve of his mouth, like he’s forcing himself to stay still.   
Hashirama is always moving, always doing something, never idle - and yet here he is, straining to keep steady, giving Mito the choice of whether or not close the distance between them. He looks weary, something that makes him look a lot like his brother. Water droplets running down his jaw and the downturned corner of his mouth, he looks tired and afraid, like no man his age usually allows himself to be.   
Mito sighs, crossing her arms over her chest, feeling tired herself. Her voice is sweet, but it lack the sharp undertone of mockery of before. “Of course I do, Hashirama. You are very important to me as well.” He’s no brother to her - she has plenty of siblings, and their relationship carries no reflection of the ‘ride or die’ she feels for them.  
They are allies, because Mito made his goals hers and she dedicates herself, body and soul, to his dream - but that term is too cold to encompass the nights spent on the porch, swaddled in a huge blanket, looking at the stars, trading stories, or the droopy smiles they exchange in the morning, when still half-asleep they make each other’s favourite breakfast, play-fighting over whether coffee or tea is best.  
But they are husband and wife, too, bound until death do them apart. And yet, they will never share the intimacy spouses have, they will never find pleasure in each other’s arms.  
In the end, Mito smiles and says the only thing that can be said: “You’re my husband, and I will stick by your side until the end.” 

Hashirama’s body uncoils, the tension sliding from him like the water sluicing off his skin. She’s not disgusted with him, he realizes, and the relief of it is enough to make him lightheaded. He offers her a dopey smile.   
“Whatever tragic end we find, eh?” he jokes. He can see the twitch in her face. She wants to roll her eyes and sigh and it only makes him smile wider.  
Instead of poking the beast who has only just calmed down, Hashirama edges around her to stand directly under the water for a few moments, scrubbing at his torso to remove the sweat and stink from his skin. Then he edges past her again to step out of the shower entirely.  
He’s in the middle of toweling off his long hair when Mito follows him, reaching for her own towel. The calm banality of standing together and drying off when only a minute ago he had worried for his manhood makes him a little giddy but he does his best to muffle his hysterical giggles, pulling soft cotton over his face on the pretense of dabbing at his fringe.  


Mito sinks in her favourite pink towel, extra large and extra fluffy, wrapping it twice around her. Her husband might be happy thinking this conversation is over with, but she’s still mulling it over in her head. She will leave him his naive hope that the worst has passed, while she retreats and regroups.  
Hashirama is gay, and it makes way too much sense. Not only his disinterest in women, but many other small quirks of his.  
(Suddenly, Tobirama’s joke about Hashirama being the gayest straight man he’s ever had the misfortune to meet is way more hilarious.)  
She tries to think back - did Hashirama ever oogle men the way other men do women? She can’t remember any instance, but to her defence, she wasn’t looking for it. Hashirama managed to make it to twenty six without being discovered, so he must be quite good at not being noticed.  
It repulses her a bit to think of _Madara_ in any kind of sexual activity, but her mind keeps going back to it, like a bystander to a training accident, unable to tear one’s eyes from the blood spreading on the ground. “Is Madara gay to begin with?” she asks, dubiously. Despite being a Clan Head, Uchiha Madara isn’t yet engaged to anyone, and that would be a point in favour of him being gay - but on the other hand, there is no rumor of him preferring boys. Actually, she can think of a few occasions Madara has been sighted in one of Konoha’s newly built brothels with Izuna. 

Just like that Hashirama deflates again. Others like to make fun of him for the constant flux of his emotions and, honestly, he’d like to see _them_ live with it. It’s not _fun_ from this side, having one’s mood constantly swing up and down like an overzealous pendulum.  
“I rather doubt it,” he answers, tossing his towel on to the heap with his cast off clothing. “He’s never shown any interest in other men. Or women, really. He doesn’t seem to interested in sex at all.”  
And wasn’t that just the most disappointing thing he’s ever had to say out loud. Hashirama isn’t sure if it would be easier or harder if Madara would just show a preference. Perhaps having him settle down with someone would help Hashirama move on?   
He thinks about it for a moment, then decides no. It would certainly be _more_ difficult.  
He dresses himself quickly in the clothing that his dutiful wife has laid out for him, tying the sash of his yukata haphazardly in his distraction.  
It could be that Madara is simply good at hiding the attentions he pays to those who catch his eye. If Hashirama can do it then certainly someone like Madara can. But he likes to think that he knows everything there is to know about his best friend, that he wouldn’t be able to hide something like this.  
“Did you really not suspect anything at all about me?” he can’t help but ask. There are times when he surprises himself with his ability to keep this secret from those around him. He seems to surround himself with only the most intelligent people and most likely the only thing that has kept him safe this long has been that the idea simply did not occur to any of them. 

Mito shakes her head, begrudgingly unwrapping the towel. Despite the lingering steam in the bathroom, a shivers runs down her spine and she hurries to pull on her kimono - black with red accents, this time. She’s like a cold-blooded lizard, feeling cold all the time. “No, never,” she admits. One does not simply look at Hashirama and think _gay_. It’s a word that comes to mind when she think of Hashirama’s third cousin Tetsuo, or Uchiha Hikaku, with their small frames, their delicate features, their luscious lips, their soft voices. Not… _Hashirama_ , the Senju Clan Head and Hokage of the first Shinobi Village, the greatest fighter the Elemental Nations have ever seen since the Sage of the Six Paths.  
“Does anyone else know?” she asks, curious. “Have you ever been with a man, or were you too afraid of rumors to try?” 

“Not rumors.” He’s never cared much for the opinions of strangers. “You. My brother. Madara. I was afraid of losing the people closest to me over something…”  
He stops and tilts his head with small puff of air, searching for how to word his thought. “Something that will never mean anything, ultimately. The only man I have ever loved is Madara and I’m not the sort for one night stands. So if I’m not likely to ever actually have relations with another man then I saw no point in possibly losing the good favor of my most precious people over it.”  
It hasn’t been the easiest thing, keeping a part of himself pushed down and repressed like he has, but he’s always seen it as necessary. He doesn’t really think Tobirama would hate him - there is likely nothing in this world that could make the Senju brothers hate each other - but it might push them even farther apart than they have drifted.   
Madara, on the other hand, he has no idea about. And also no desire to find out for sure.  
“So...no. I’ve never told anyone. I didn’t really mean to tell you but you had something pointy and it’s always best to be honest with one’s wife when she is wielding something pointy.”  
With a humorous look, Hashirama darts out of the bathroom before she can throw anything at him in exasperation. Who knows what else she has hidden in that mass of hair? 

The Uzumaki heiress looks in exasperation at the open door, the long mass of her husband’s hair disappearing in the hallway. Why did her father marry her to an overgrown five years old? She’s older than Hashirama, but it’s only two years. Surely it shouldn’t make him this much immature?  
No, wait, Tobirama is four years younger than her and he is mature. Scratch it, it’s not an age issue, it’s a _Hashirama_ issue.  
Rolling her eyes, Mito pulls on her slippers and leaves the bathroom. Like she expected, she finds Hashirama in the kitchen, busy eating the rice balls he found in the fridge. She counts three wrappings on the table - he really must be famished. Tobirama must have rode him hard.  
The pot she used to warm her cider is still out, so she pours herself a glass of luke-warm cider, wistfully wishing she was fire-natured. It could really do with a heating, but she doesn’t want to heat it on the stove. Alas, she’s wind-natured, so lukewarm it is.  
“Now what?” she asks as she sits at the table, tapping her manicured nails to the wood - she uses a special nail varnish that makes her nails as hard as steel, so she’s not overly concerned about ruining them.  
“I won’t be telling anyone in the near future that you’re gay, of course, so your secret is safe with me.” Her smile is polite, her lashes fluttering coyly, but her eyes are zeroing on Hashirama’s face, intent. “But what will it mean for me, husband dearest?” 

Hashirama rolls the rice ball in his hands, chewing slowly as he contemplates her question. What does it mean for her, indeed?  
“You knowing doesn’t change many things, Mito,” he points out reluctantly. “We’re married, whether the match is beneficial to us personally or not. It was politics that brought us together; love was only ever a peripheral hope. And I am still expected to produce heirs. The elders hope that I will be able to pass on my mokuton to the next generation.”   
He wouldn’t mind children, not really. He doesn’t love kids half as much as his brother does but he certainly thinks they’re cute little buggers. And he’s had years to come to terms with the fact that he will be expected to have some of his own, even if he has always cringed at the method required for making them.   
(Really, he thinks, Tobirama would probably be able to think of some way to help him - if he were brave enough to ask. Which he isn’t)  
“I do feel bad, though. For you, I mean. This situation must be most horrible for you and I with there were something I could do to make it more bearable.” 

Draining her glass, Mito steeples her fingers in front of her face, looking up at Hashirama. “How I see it, we have two possible paths in front of us.”  
The Senju Clan Head leans against the counter and nods at her, signalling her to go on, hope and fear flashing in his eyes.  
“I can keep a careful track of my cycles, and take certain medicines when I’m fertile to raise the odds. You force yourself to do your job, I get pregnant, we get the Elders off our back for a little, possibly have to do it again in a few years. You keep pining over Madara from afar, we’re both miserable and sexually frustrated, with only our hands to keep us company at night.”  
Hashirama blushes something fierce for a man with such a tanned skin, but Mito steamroll right over his spluttering protests.  
“Or I can find myself a discreet lover, finally have some decent sex, get pregnant, and get the Elders off our backs all in one.” She sends him a fox grin, pearly white teeth showing, eyes narrowed in amusement. “This plan _could_ could include you actually growing a pair and finding someone saner than Madara to get laid - someone you know is gay to avoid needless embarrassment - but I’m not very hopeful on that front.” 

It’s hard to answer when all that will come out is half words and disconnected vowels. Hashirama battles the fire in his face (and loses spectacularly) as Mito’s words filter slowly into his thoughts.   
“A lover!?”   
His hands flail, trying to illustrate the words that he’s having such difficulty getting out.  
“Mito, we are _married!_ A lover? That’s...it’s just not done! It’s…”  
Her eyes narrow a little more and Hashirama finally stops to think, his mind catching up and considering her proposal from the proper angles.   
“It’s...a good idea, actually. You are right, as always. That would rather neatly wrap everything up in a neat little bow, wouldn’t it?” He hesitates, “Ah, one thought, however. Would not your hypothetical lover mind if you were to get pregnant with his child and yet present it as mine? I imagine there would be some rather serious secrecy issues there. Not to mention jealousy.”  
People are varied and complicated but if there is one thing that is common across all of humanity it is the driving urge to claim what is _mine, mine, mine._ It will take a special sort of person to be okay with not being allowed to publicly claim their own child.  
It will also take a special sort of person for Hashirama to approve of them. He won’t exactly be able to stop her but he’s certainly capable of making himself as annoying as possible if she somehow chooses to give her attentions to some unworthy cretin. That simply won’t do. Mito deserves the best and Hashirama will not approve of anything less.  
“The most important thing here is your happiness, my dear.”  
He says it to her but really he’s mostly trying to drive it into his own thick skull. Just in case. He knows himself, after all.  


The eyebrows that almost joined her hairline when Hashirama started spouting nonsense slowly descend back as he speaks more reasonably, a satisfied smile on her face.   
“Honestly, I don’t know whether I’ll manage to have a fulfilling romance or it will be only about sex. It’s too early to worry about it, darling. I have no means to know if the father will still be around when the baby is born. I might tell them who their father is when they’re older, and allow him to meet them, if the situation will allow for it.”   
“But let me promise you something.” Mito is an Uzumaki, the daughter of the greatest leader her Clan has ever had. Her mother, a mighty warrior on her own, gave birth to her in the sea, amid seafoam and whirlpools. There is a seastorm in Mito’s soul, great and terrible, always banked, like a thunderstorm raging over the ocean but never grazing the mainland. She allows Hashirama to see it, uncoiling her chakra to whip around her like the ghost of a hurricane, her stores as massive as her husband’s, like a leviathan rising from the abyss. “Believe me, I won’t let anyone come between me and my children. A lover might have my body and you might have my loyalty, but my soul belongs to me, and my heart will belong to my children.”  
With the ease of training, Mito calls back her power, wind dying down like it was never there to begin with, leaving only a few kitchen utensils overturned. Hashirama needed a reminder of just who Mito is: a princess, who knows how to count her victories. Hashirama is a fool if he thinks Mito doesn’t know that her children are safer when bearing the Senju crest, when they’re living in the same house as Konoha’s Hokage. Hashirama is a fool if he thinks Mito will choose a potential liability as her lover, because she knows perfectly well that few men could be trusted with a secret that could topple Hashirama’s power - and her own in suite. 

Hashirama has been called any things in his life, and among those things are ‘the God of shinobi’ and the ‘strongest fighter in Konoha’. Neither of these auspicious titles are enough to stop the tiny _meep_ that escapes him as Mito brings the full force of her chakra to bear on their cozy little kitchen.  
He’s never truly seen her fight before. Oh, he’s sparred with her once or twice when they first met, sizing each other up to be certain the match was appropriate in all the different ways the public might question. But he has not sparred with her since, has never been present for the missions that she deigns to accept when they pique her interest. He has never seen Mito angry and protective, fighting for her life or to save the lives of her comrades.   
He’s been missing out, apparently.   
In the face of her spectacular demonstration, all he can say at first is a mild, “Yes dear…”  
Then he has to take a moment to relearn how to breathe, as well as find the spine that he was mostly certain was supposed to be somewhere in his back, holding him up. Mito is resplendent, powerful, intelligent, and he wishes for a brief moment that he could find it in himself to love her as a husband does a wife.   
Then he clears his throat and ploughs onward.  
“Ah, any ideas then? There’s can’t be many in the village that would hold your interest beyond a bit of pleasant eye candy. Although, if that’s all you’re looking for I could provide an opinion or two myself.”  
He’s never had anyone to share himself like this before and he finds himself a bit excited at the prospect of just some good old gossip about which boy is the prettiest. He might be in love with Madara but he isn’t _blind._

Mito may or may not take great amusement in the variety of emotions that flash over Hashirama’s face, and the pallor that takes him for a split second. He’s still a trained shinobi, though, so he recovers about as fast as she’s come to expect, going back to the matter at hand. Who knows, Mito might make a politician out of him one day.   
Leaning back in her comfortable chair, Mito looks for imaginary imperfections on her blood-red nails, hiding a smirk.  
“I will gladly trade evaluations of every pretty ninja we see, but I dearly hope you haven’t set your eyes on this one, husband dearest.” 

Which means she _does,_ in fact, have one in mind. Hashirama can’t for the life of him think of who she might be referring to, however. A criminal, perhaps?  
“My sights are set rather firmly in a different direction than your tastes, apparently, so I’m sure there’s no need to worry about that.”  
He runs through a mental roster of all the most attractive men he can think of that reside in Konoha, trying to guess who it is she is thinking of. She seemed rather attracted to him - at least, she did in the beginning - and he tries to pinpoint what it is about himself that made him her type. When he applies his own characteristics to the other men in the village, though, the similarities usually end with ‘also brunet’ or ‘he’s about as dumb as I am’.   
With a mental shrug, he gives in and settles for asking,  
“Are you going to share?” he asks, leaning back and clasping his hands in front of him in the perfect image of demure and patient curiosity. (It won’t fool her of course, but the effort is usually appreciated) 

Hashirama’s antics bring a smile of amusement, making her feel warm. Kami save her, but she really loves this big puppy she married.   
Her affection for him doesn’t stop her from dropping the bomb on his head with great nonchalance, carefully hiding the smirk that threatens to take over her face.  
“Your brother.” 

“My...what now?”  
Hashirama blinks rapidly. Surely he must have misheard that. Surely Mito isn’t thinking of _his brother,_ his precious little Tobi.  
Tobirama, who is even younger than her than Hashirama himself.  
Tobirama, who Hashirama has chased girls away from many times before (and not a thanks to be heard, the ungrateful brat).  
Tobirama, his precious baby brother, innocent and sweet and -  
“YOU WANT TO HAVE SEX WITH MY BROTHER!?” 

She can’t help it: she bursts out laughing, demurely hiding her mouth behind her hand, mirth shaking her shoulders so hard the bells of her hairpins jingle. Hashirama is gaping like a simpleton, eyes wide, waving his hands in the air without purpose other than to vent out his incredulity.  
“Yes, I would really like to have sex with your brother,” Mito confirms, suave, still giggling and trying to get herself under control.  
How could she _not_ want to have the gorgeous Senju in her bed? There is no woman in the Village with functioning eyes who hasn’t looked at him with desire at least once.  
The kunoichi, at least. From what she gathered, civilian women find his albino looks quite off-putting. However, strange colourings are common amid shinobi clans: what attracts any kunoichi worth their kunai is the sheer power that seeps from him. It’s not even chakra, it’s just his _presence_ , the way he prowls like one of his leopard summons, all fluid, killing grace. His prowess in battle, too, is quite attractive.  
The fact that he has some of the finest features short of a noble is a great bonus, coupled with the rest of package: while not built like Hashirama, Tobirama packs a lot of muscle, as Mito has had the luck to appreciate whenever he loses his shirt during training.  
The Uzumaki is also in the unique position of really knowing the younger Senju, too. The rumors of him being a genius are not exaggerated: his brain goes a thousand miles a minute, and Mito finds following his multiple trains of thought utterly fascinating.  
Under his cold exterior, there’s a sharp wit, his red eyes glowing with mirth at his older brother’s expense, there’s quiet pride at his own achievements, there’s soft affection when he looks at the children he teaches.  
Senju Tobirama is like a geode. Mito wants to crack him open to explore every single facet of his soul and body. 

He has to admit, he didn't consider that even as a possibility. If nothing else, Mito knows how to surprise him.   
He is also forced to admit that he can see what might draw her to his brother. Hashirama is his little brother’s number one fan, ever the first to admire his accomplishments and sing his praises. Sometimes he’s so full of pride for the younger man that he thinks he might burst.   
Tobirama is intelligent like Mito, strong like Mito, calculating and logical like Mito. Hashirama can see the appeal that would draw her. That doesn’t mean he has to _agree_ with it. His hands flutter uselessly in front of him as he tries hard to stop the mental images that suddenly come flooding in.  
“Eeeeewwwwww!”   
It takes some effort to derail his brain and force it to think of something other than Mito taking Tobirama to her bed (and merciful mother of chakra he hopes she never takes the younger man to _ Hashirama’s_ bed). He dances anxiously, shifting his weight back and forth while he thinks of what to say to that.  
“I mean...he’s...at least he’s worthy of you?”  
Mito is still laughing at him and he pouts.  
“What!? What did you expect me to say to that?” 

“Not for you to react like a five year old,” she chuckles, shaking her head in amusement. She allows the laughter to die out naturally, leaving her pleasantly relaxed. She didn’t realize how tensed she was until Hashirama went and made her laugh like only he can.  
“Your brother is single, correct? Do you know if he’s interested in anyone?” From their talks, Mito knows that Tobirama isn’t in a relationship with any woman, but she knows better than thinking the younger Senju would tell her _everything,_ like who he fancies. To his elder brother, on the other hand… 

“He hasn’t mentioned anything to me about having an interest in someone.”  
If he had then Hashirama isn’t ashamed to admit that he would have long ago started looking into this girl, determining whether or not she was good enough for his sibling.   
As much as it pains him, he knows Tobirama is not an innocent little virgin. There have been a few that managed to slip under his radar or dodge around his attempts at brotherly protection. He’s managed to scare off most of them, however. He’s pretty good at it.   
If Tobirama did have an interest in someone he would not be likely to say anything outright but Hashirama is familiar with most of the signs and he hasn’t seen any lately. In fact, Tobirama has been spending most of his social time in the last few months around his family, Hashirama and Mito and Touka.  
“I’m not...entirely comfortable with this. If it will make you happy, though, and he agrees to it then I’m not going to stand in your way. But...ah...if I could make a request? Please, just...not here.”  
He rubs the back of his neck through the waterfall of still damp hair, feeling awkward. The very thought of Tobirama doing anything remotely sexual in Hashirama’s own place of solace is not a pleasant one. 

Mito smiles gently and gives a single nod. “Of course, husband dearest.”  
Of course she’ll have sex wherever she pleases. There would be a certain cosmic justice in having Tobirama pound her into the very bed where she never once had a decent go at it, wouldn’t it? Or perhaps ride him. Well, why choose when she can have both?  
She chides at herself. No counting your eggs before they hatch. Her mother always told her she’s too eager. Patience is the virtue any hunter needs.  
There is something Mito hasn’t told Hashirama, something she likely will never tell him.  
Mito knows men.  
While she was busy trying to make Hashirama look at her the way she wanted him to, she noticed _Tobirama_ looking at her.  
Oh, it was never anything untoward - Tobirama is nothing if not a gentleman. He never once said a word that couldn’t be repeated in Hashirama’s presence, never once so much as _hinted_ at making a move.  
But Mito knows men. Tobirama’s red eyes are peculiar, but the look in them is something Mito knows well. When she enters a room, his eyes are already trained on the door she’ll come in from, likely having followed her movement with his chakra senses. He looks at her for a brief second, his eyes lingering on her body, before averting them to go back to whatever he was doing.   
He doesn’t do that with anyone else. Mito knows Tobirama well, for he’s the person she first bonded with in the Village right after Hashirama, so she knows he never does anything by chance. He singles her out, she’s _special_ \- and it’s not because she’s his brother’s wife.  
There was an instance, this summer, when it was so hot Mito lost her training shirt, frustrated with the heat - casual nudity is common among the ninja ranks. Clad only in very short trousers and a bra, she faced her opponent. Except that for a long second there was no attack, because Tobirama’s red eyes were narrowed on her exposed breasts, on her naked stomach glistening with sweat, on her thighs revealed by the minimal clothes, his gaze hungry, his lips half-parted like a hunting wolf.  
He quickly collected himself, but Mito didn’t forget. Didn’t forget and allowed herself to look back, to appreciate the freely offered desire that her husband didn’t give her.  
And now, she might be able to act on that hunger. 

Hashirama nods slowly, taking a deep breath in. He’s accepted her idea now, there’s no backing out of this. Which he regrets a little bit as yet another thing occurs to him:  
For Mito to approach Tobirama she’s going to have to explain certain things. His brother is too honorable a man to sleep with someone else’s wife, let alone someone who means so much to him. And he knows Mito well enough to know she finds the truth a little too amusing not to share it.  
By agreeing to allow Mito to pursue Tobirama he’s basically just handed her free reign to spill the secret of his proclivities to one of the people he’s been intentionally hiding it from for years.   
Muted panic wells up in him and he plunges down another twist on today’s emotional rollercoaster.   
“What are you going to tell him? About me, I mean.”  
Maybe if he has some forewarning he can brace himself for the younger man’s reaction when it inevitably falls upon him.  
Hashirama suddenly feels as though there is an axe swinging for his neck with no way to dodge. He gulps and rubs at his throat to chase away the feeling. Tobirama isn’t the most gentle or merciful person in the village, and his imagination is already running wild with possible reactions, each more violent than the last.  
He does manage not to whimper this time, though. 

She gives him a long, considering gaze. “Tobirama is going to take this thing with Madara even worse than me, isn’t he?” she wonders out loud, knowing she’s right - Tobirama spoke at length about the Uchiha and the influence he has over Hashirama, about the way Madara prolonged needlessly the war only because of his pride, his red eyes cold and furious, his words sharp and biting. No, Tobirama is not going to take Hashirama’s love for the man well. At all.  
Baby steps, then.  
“I’m going to tell him that you’re gay, but not about Madara. I’ll manage to spin it so that I caught you ogling at some men and confronted you about it. I’ll tell him you didn’t tell him because you were afraid of his reaction, and of the repercussions on all of us. That you didn’t want to give him one more thing to worry over.” Hashirama doesn’t look relieved, tension hunching his shoulders forward.   
“It’s out of your control. Don’t beat yourself over it. Tobirama loves you and you won’t lose his affection over this. But if you’re so torn over this, I’ll ask him to give you time and not confront you about it right away, alright?”  
A thought occurs to her and she gives a huff of amusement. “Look alive! Any children we might have, you’ll be able to say they’re Senju get with a clear conscience.” 

He shudders with sheer horror.   
If she gets pregnant by this fiasco then Hashirama will have to help raise _Tobirama’s child._ The man himself had been a terror as a youngling, too smart for his minders with a mouth too sharp for his own good. It would be hell to live through that a second time, especially if the child’s other parent were someone equally smart like Mito.  
There’s no point in getting himself all worked up with worry yet, however, so he expels the thought with a quiet puff.   
“Thank you for being so kind about all this,” he says.  
Perhaps it wasn’t kind to threaten his life and the crown jewels but he didn’t truly blame her for that part. He’s more referring to how calmly she took the news of his preferences. She has an obvious distaste for his choice in partners but not for him as a person and that alone is a bigger relief than he has words for. 

Humming softly, Mito stands up, joining her husband at the counter. “You should have told me sooner,” she chides him, shaking her head - but she's smiling.   
“I'm on your side, Hashirama. Your enemies are my enemies, your goals are my goals. I'm a bit disappointed you didn't trust me, but seeing as you didn't tell Tobirama either, I'll overlook it just this once.”  
She rises on the balls of her feet, leaning up to lay a kiss on the Senju’s cheek. “Thank you for seeing reason. I appreciate it. You're a good man.”  
And she really is thankful - despite his initial faltering, he listened to her and saw the logic in her words. Not many men are open enough to listen to their wives, especially not when it comes to what amounts to cuckolding. “I promise you won't regret it.”


	2. Playing With Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mito makes her first move. Tobirama is confused.

Mito: Holly  
Tobirama: Rae

It takes little effort to breathe through the strain of his muscles and push himself on past the point where many others would falter. Tobirama has been pushing limits since he was too young to walk and yet teaching himself to run anyway. His refusal to give in, his determination to break boundaries and reach constantly higher - that’s what keeps him alive. It is what creates his jutsu and keeps his clan running. It is what he draws on now as the tendons in his arm scream for him to lower his body weight.  
Training has always brought to him a special kind of calm. The stress he puts his body through is strangely cathartic and he finds it easiest during times like these to allow his mind to simply drift into peaceful silence.   
He has his eyes closed and his body up in the air, held there in perfect stillness by one arm, when the silence of his mind is broken by the approach of a familiar chakra signature. It’s almost second nature for him to keep track of the signatures of his important people in the back of his mind but it is unusual for Mito to be coming this way at this time of day. She typically prefers to train at dawn. So does he, for that matter, but he hadn’t had time this morning and thus pushed his regimen back to now.  
It takes a few minutes of absently following the sensation of her chakra for him to understand that she is headed straight for him specifically. She must wish to speak with him about something - likely something to do with Hashirama. He breaks the handstand and lowers himself back to the beaten dirt, wondering what his brother has gotten himself into this time.  
Whatever it is that she needs, he finds himself looking forward to the conversation. He very much enjoys Mito’s company. His brother is an incredibly lucky man to be married to someone like her and Tobirama can only hope to find a woman half as incredible as Mito to take as his own wife. She is the only person in the village able to keep up with his mind and there are times he thanks the kami for her presence, wonders how he survived so many years being surrounded by people so much slower than himself.   
As he catches sight of brilliant red hair at the edge of the training field, Tobirama straightens and reaches for something to wipe the sweat from his brow, watching her from the corner of his eye. As he usually does upon first sight, he takes a brief moment to _appreciate_ that sight. She’s a very beautiful woman.  
Then he nods once in greeting and lifts a single brow in silent inquiry. 

Like all kunoichi, Mito has an healthy appreciation for sweaty men who just came off training or fighting, and Senju Tobirama is no exception, his sleeveless shirt displaying strong arms slick with sweat, exertion leaving a dusting of red over his pale cheeks. His eyes, too, seem to glow with the easy pleasure of physical exercise. All in all, it makes for a very pleasant view.  
“Hello,” she greets him, a bit disappointed he stopped his exercises to greet her. She sees no opponent so he's training solo like she expected, and he's not breathing overly hard, so no endurance practise either. Muscle work, perhaps?  
“Hashirama didn't let me train this morning. Would you like company?” It's not even a lie: she hadn't _meant_ to join Tobirama in his training when she woke up, but Hashirama derailed her morning training by begging her to join him in his office, where he spent the better part of the morning telling her about his relationship with his sexuality as he worked (with Mito making sure the privacy seals were up around his office). While she missed her ritual of exercising at dawn, they got a lot of paperwork done, at least - and she got a lot of interesting stories about crushes and teenager Hashirama.  
When she heard that Tobirama, too, had to skip his morning training, the Uzumaki decided to kill two birds with a stone and join him. Sure, yesterday after her talk with Hashirama she had planned to talk with him somewhere quiet like his labs or a teahouse, but… which woman in her sane mind would give up in the chance to see Senju Tobirama training?

The tilt of his head is considering as he weighs her question. Mito rarely does anything without a secondary agenda, not even something as simple as her daily training. On the other hand he happens to be aware that she supposedly spent her entire morning holed up with her husband in the Hokage office.  
(He knows this because when he happened across Hashirama only an hour ago his elder brother saw fit to whine about a cramp his hand had developed from signing his name so many times in one hour. Honestly, if he truly wanted something to whine about he should give a try at dealing with the amount of paperwork Tobirama has to deal with on a regular basis.)  
Mito _has_ come dressed for training, however, so even if she does have something else she wishes from him it’s obvious that she intends to rectify the passing over of her daily workout - and Tobirama has very little problem with allowing her to join him.  
“It would be a pleasure,” he agrees without a word of a lie.   
Mito is always a pleasure to spar with. She’s one of the rare people who can offer him a challenge. And then, of course, there is the simple pleasure of watching the way she moves.   
It’s not wrong to appreciate beauty so long as he makes sure his imagination stays firmly seated, not running away with itself and taking liberties with someone who is already married. Married to his own kin, no less.  
Mito nods back and takes up a wonderfully crafted stance, perfect in her form. The shorts peeking out from underneath her yukata top make her legs seem endless and it takes a slight effort to draw his eye upwards to meet her, falling into a stance of his own. “Rules?”

“Ninjutsu only,” she says, loosening her shoulders, her chakra flowing faster inside of her, so close to the skin she can almost feel it, like a lover’s caress. She doesn’t wait for Tobirama to nod or otherwise accept, attacking right away - he so dislikes people wasting his time needlessly.  
Hands joined in a bird seal, she gathers her chakra in her throat, making it spin faster and faster, until she opens her mouth and spits a violent bullet of compressed air - _Fuuton: Wind bullets._ As she shoots it, she jumps up, knowing better than to stay still in a battle against Tobirama. The man, as she predicted, easily avoids it, but she doesn’t miss a beat, shooting bullet after bullet right at him, her jutsu blowing holes into the ground, into the trunk of a tree, destroying as great deal of branches, twigs and leaves falling in burst as he chases after him in the clearing.

The pull and snap of his muscles as he dodges her attacks is a nice compliment to constant straining of his strength training before. One corner of his mouth turns up as he brings his own hands together, spinning one on heel to avoid a mass of compressed air. Coming out of the spin he releases his own jutsu - _Suiton: Water Shuriken._  
If long range is what Mito feels like playing with today he is more than prepared to fight like with like. Each of the water-crafted blades hum with his chakra, making it easy for him to direct their flight through the air.   
As he expected, she dodges his attacks as easily as he had her own. His eyes follow her hands as she runs through a simple set of seals, recognizing her intention just in time to avoid the lash of air that pass so fast the sound barrier trembles and thunders in his ears.   
He finds the pull of his lips stretching as they pass jutsu back and forth until he is smiling viciously, grinning with the thrill of allowing his chakra to burst forth from his fingertips without check. Battle is serious and he does not truly enjoy cutting down his opponents. But the _art_ of battle, the clash of opponents in a friendly spar and the beauty of the varied jutsu that are thrown back and forth, that he very much does enjoy. 

The bells of her hairpins jingle excitedly, a perfect counterpoint to the rapid beat of her heart, adrenaline flowing fast and hard. Her chakra whips around her like she’s in the eye of a whirlwind, though she knows better than unleashing it all: just like the man hopping from tree to tree, she releases only what little she needs, carefully dosing her strength. All stealth-trained ninja like Mito fight like this, keeping their chakra expenditure contained: it’s exceptional how Tobirama, who she knows started his career as a first line fighter, can master both fighting styles.  
Her air bullets and blades harass him, but not in vain. The Senju sends her water bullets and water shurikens, and yet she waits: she knows he can do more, will do more if he gets bored with her assault. Eventually, he changes tactic, sending her a hail of small water bullets instead of a single cannon ball, and Mito grins. _Fuuton: Air Current Wild Dance._ Chakra exudes from her palm, the Uzumaki shaping it like the gales of her motherland, sending out a violent storm that snatches Tobirama’s projectiles, her miniature storm sucking them in and throwing them back at their owner - only in the shape of icicles, small but sharp like blades, the howling winds throwing them every which way.

Half the fun of fighting with someone as intelligent as Mito is how creative she is with her chakra. His sparring partner knows almost double the amount of jutsu that any typical mid-rank fighter in the village might.  
The other half of the fun is winning. Tobirama isn’t afraid to admit that he is competitive and he enjoys gaining the upper hand. The shards of ice coming towards him would worry him much more if he did not already have a solution for just such a jutsu.  
It takes only a short but forceful blast of his chakra for the blades to melt back to water. He is the best at wielding his own element and has never pretended to be anything less than proud of it. The water whips back in Mito’s direction in long rope-like streams, lashing at her feet in an attempt to entangle them.

Despite it being autumn, Mito’s yukata is veritably drenched. Keeping an eye on Tobirama, she wipes her face with the back of a hand, the fringe stuck to her forehead and the droplets of sweat stinging her eyes bothering her quite a bit.   
Fighting against the younger Senju is an exercise in frustration, but it’s one Mito enjoys: not only does Tobirama have a complete mastery over his element, but he’s damn smart about using it, always able to avoid her traps. Twice she singed his feet with her exploding seals, but both times he managed to avoid the blasts, his steps barely faltering. She was _sure_ she got him with the second one, he hadn’t noticed the hidden seals on her shurikens until it was too late, but his speed saved him, the ferret.  
Well, time to change the game. Her ace up her sleeve, her chakra chains, are nigh useless on Tobirama, because thanks to his chakra sensing skills he can sense them coming and there is no way to sneak up on him… Unless he’s otherwise occupied.  
Flexing her chakra coils, Mito suddenly plunges deep in her ocean-like reserves, pulling them all out like an explosion, like the sea flooding in the training round, thick and oppressive. The air hums with power, and Tobirama missteps, reeling back - that’s when Mito calls her chains into existence, sending them in a wide circle, hidden by the leaves and debris falling from the canopy, to attack the man from behind.

Mito’s chakra is like a brilliant flare on his senses, nearly overwhelming to the point of blindness when used with such grandeur. It’s obvious to him that the point of this attack is to drive him past the limits of his sensing abilities and pin him while he cannot retaliate. And it works.   
On his clone.   
He has all the satisfaction of seeing the realization on Mito’s face for a single moment after his clone disappears with a puff of smoke, then he activates his hiraishin a second time and appears only inches from her back, holding a blade to her neck.   
She should know better than to take her eyes off of him, even for the split second that she did. It was all he needed to duck behind a tree and send out a clone, flickering his real body away to lay his own trap.   
“If you would reel those back in I would be ever so appreciative,” he drawls in her ear. “They’re rather hard on my senses. You’ll give me a headache.”

The fact that Mito rarely wins their ninjutsu spars doesn’t mean it burns any less when this time as well she loses, but the irritation at herself is tempered with honest awe at Tobirama’s speed: when did he send out a clone? She paid extra care to never lose sight of him exactly for this reason!  
To keep a blade to her throat, the Senju has to stand very close, and she’s very aware of the warm body pressed against her back, his musky scent filling her senses. He’s likely bending over her, for she can feel his hot breath on her ear, and it sends a shudder through her body, every nerve spiking with eager avidity. Kami but she likes him.  
Instead of acquiescing his request, she voluntarily misinterprets his words, dissolving her chains but not calling back the vastness of her chakra, hanging heavy and thick around them, flowing slowly like a lazy sea current.   
“Better?,” she asks in an innocent voice, leaning back against the hard muscle of his chest, totally ignoring the cold steel to the throat - she can almost feel where her chakra touches him, her wind caressing him like the desert’s hot breathe.

Tobirama tuts disapprovingly, small clicks of his tongue that act as a soft counterpoint to the way he presses the tip of the blade closer. He would never truly hurt her and they both know that but the treat is there: ‘I could hurt you a little’.  
“Come now, Mito. You’re better than this.”  
She’s doing it on purpose and he knows that. There aren’t that many people in the world who would dare to press him like this, tease him like this. It’s a thrill he does not have the luxury to experience very often. Hashirama’s teasing is brotherly and goofy, ruffling hair and childish words. Touka’s teasing is brash and familial, blows that hit too close to home because she knows all the secrets of his younger says.  
Mito, however, is different. Mito would be the perfect partner in crime, a perfect foil or a perfect compliment. Her personality is incredibly similar to his own and yet just different enough to keep things interesting.  
“Put it away, if you please.”  
His voice is dark with threats - only barely hidden beneath the thin veil of his polite words - that he knows she does not actually fear. Hashirama would whine at him for being too serious. Mito only smiles.

Mito likes his voice, dark and low as it is now. Close as he is, solid and warm, she takes the liberty to imagine him draped over her back, that same husky voice whispering in her ear. Would he promise violence in that moment as well, or would he promise treats?  
Tilting her head just a bit, she glances up at him, his red eyes flashing with amusement - the kunai presses harder into her delicate throat, but not enough to actually break the skin. She thinks she likes the threat of it.  
“Of course,” she purrs, calling her power back: like a lake drained by its drawing steams, the chakra in the air gathers at her tenketsu points and is absorbed back into her coils - giving Tobirama one last caress before it goes. She could call it all back in one go, but she sees no reason to hasten the process when it gives her leave to lean against Tobirama, who generally shies away from physical contact.   
Even when all her chakra is once again tightly lidded inside of her, she doesn’t move, her eyes half-lidded and the corner of her mouth quirked in a smirk.

There is something different in Mito today and the question of it keeps him still a little too long past the point when he would normally have drawn away. He cannot quite identify that look sparking in her dark grey eyes.  
(In anyone else he would call it interest, attraction, but the very thought of it nearly makes him scoff. This is his brother’s wife, a happily married woman who is far above cheating on a doting husband.)  
Only when he catches his own eyes lingering on the shape her lips make, drawn up in such a naughty expression of smug humor, does he pull away. He’s lingered too much and it would be quite inappropriate to do so any longer.   
“Thank you.” There is no harm in being polite. It’s a healthy habit to be polite to one’s fellow shinobi, trained killers all of them, and he wishes more people would follow his example. People like his brother’s best friend rub him the wrong way with their brash, unthinking words and lack of basic civility.   
“And thank you as well for the spar. It was a pleasure, as always.”  
There is often a strange urge to bow in the back of his mind when he speaks with Mito. It’s not an urge he gives in to but it’s always there, just on the edge, and sometimes he thinks she knows it. He feels it now, an out of place desire to kneel at her feet. He mentally shakes it away and cages his thoughts before they run rampant in to places they do not belong. 

Disappointingly - but expectedly - Tobirama takes a step off, and Mito is ready to catch her balance like nothing happened. She turns to look at him fully, drawing her shoulders back and holding her head high, tilted just so. Looking down on something is not a matter of physical height, her mother taught her, and Mito learned her lesson well.   
Mito looks at Tobirama, locks her grey eyes with his red ones, and pins him.   
She _felt_ the way he gave into her, just the slightest bit. He stands there, in front of her, and while his gaze doesn’t stray from her face, she can see the way he tilts his body to face her like a sunflower facing the sun, shifting his weight just the tiniest bit forward, towards _her._  
Tobirama is definitely interested, but will never step out, because that’s what a good brother would do. He’s held as a paragon of virtue in the whole of Konoha by all Clans - fame upheld by the way he immediately pulled back when he toed the line just now.  
Mito wants to know what would make him step over that line, what would make him _snap_ and _break._  
Wants to know if _she_ can push him over.  
“Oh, no, Tobirama.” A smile spreads over her lips, showing just the barest hint of teeth, her eyes as hard as the steel Tobirama still holds in his hand. “It was _my_ pleasure. One I look forward to have again.”

There’s no clue in her expression to help him guess at what is on her mind. His assumption earlier that she came here with a secondary agenda seems to be correct but it irks him a little that he hasn’t been able to figure out what that might be.  
He hates not knowing things. Not knowing things is a dangerous state to be in, especially around someone like her.  
Obviously there is the option to simply ask what it is she wishes from him, but there is a small sting of pride that prevents him from doing so. He wants to figure it out for himself and so he decides to simply respond as he would if nothing were out of place.  
“I am at your disposal any time you wish.”  
A rather brashly open ended statement coming from him who knows all the ways it could be misinterpreted. He trusts Mito though. Whatever it is she wants it can’t be too bad.   
“I had not quite finished my routine before you arrived. Will you be staying for a little more training or were you only interested in a bit of exercise?”

She smiles like the benevolent queen she is, straightening her yukata in place. “Would you _like._ to be at my disposal, is the question. Would I make it worth your while, I wonder?” She then dips her head gracefully and lowers her eyes, for they would surely belie her demure air, revealing the unchecked joy at playing the game again. It’s been so long.  
“I think I’ll stay and do my own exercises, if you don’t mind,” she goes on as if nothing happened, pulling a few wayward hairs behind her ears and then stretching her arms up above her head, hearing a soft, satisfying _pop_ from her back. “What are your plans after this, mh?”

“A bath,” Tobirama says dryly. As if she even needs to ask. It’s a well known fact that when possible Tobirama much prefers to stay clean. It’s one of the reasons he prefers to train at dawn: bathing at midday has always felt odd and it throws his mental patterns out of order.  
He purposefully answers her second question and puts off the first. She _definitely_ wants something, as he had suspected. What he had not expected was for her to offer recompense of some sort. He can’t imagine what it is she desires that she feels the need to make it ‘worth his while’.   
(He very carefully steers his thoughts in the correct direction once again. Mito appears absolutely full of innuendo today and he can’t decide if it’s unintentional or not. She is usually so deliberately spoken, choosing her words with care, but everyone falls victim to their own language on occasion.   
She is also a woman, however, a kunoichi trained in the accompanying arts. If she thought a few well placed suggestions would get her what she wants she would not hesitate to use them, not even on him.)  
A quick glance down at himself has him grimacing and muttering, “I’m filthy.”   
He does not allow himself to look over her form. He loves his natural element, really he does, but it has a tendency towards making certain situations slightly more awkward than he feels is truly called for. Mito is just as dirty as he is and having her light-colored top soaked through with water makes it improper for his eyes to move anywhere other than her face.  
He really needs to find a wife of his own.

She gives a hint of an eyeroll. “Of course we're having a shower after this,” she says, amused at the obvious answer. “I meant afterwards.”  
The thought of Tobirama hitting the public onsen as he's wont to do after training is an inspiring one, but Mito knows better. Patience.  
(She does kind of wish she was still seventeen, sneaking into the male side of the baths with her friends under a male henge. Good times.)  
She pulls at the lower end of her yukata, twisting it to squeeze out the excess of water. Fighting with Tobirama always means having a shower, whether you want it or not. Thank goodness it's still warm - it's _not_ funny in winter.   
She's perfectly aware she's showing a slight sliver of belly as she does, just as she's exceedingly aware of how _Tobirama’s_ own wet clothes cling to his lean frame, emphasising his tapered waist.   
Mito looks for a dry-ish spot to do her own exercises. Gracefully, she falls on her hands and feet, counting her push-ups in her head. “If you don't have anything planned,” she goes on as if nothing happened, “you could wash yourself at my place and then have a late lunch with us.”

Is she _aware_ of her own phrasing? ‘We’re having a shower’ indeed. If he weren’t so confident in his own self-control Tobirama would decline her offer for fear of how he might find himself misinterpreting certain things.  
“If Brother whines at me about his hand again I am leaving,” he warns. “But that is a good suggestion. I will gladly join you for lunch.”  
Perhaps he’ll be able to observe her further and figure out her plan.   
With that decided, Tobirama bends down to place one hand on the ground and raises his bodyweight into the air as he had been when Mito first arrived. He’d only barely started his upper body work then and it would be a pity not to finish what he had started. Their brief spar has given him new energy and it’s as easy as breathing to begin one handed push-ups while holding his handstand, the hem of his shirt riding high on his stomach to catch a pleasantly cooling breeze as he does so.   
The way Mito’s gaze flickers over towards him makes him think perhaps he should secure his shirt so that it stays in place - then he realizes he’s being ridiculous. Even if she were trying to get a rise out of him to accomplish whatever mischievous goal she has in mind, she has no reason to return the attention. She’s probably just trying to decipher his thoughts or plan her next move.

Coincidentally, her position low on the ground allows her a truly fascinating view of Tobirama's bare stomach, his shirt riding low as he keeps his upside-down position on a headstand. “I'll make sure you won't have any reason the leave, then.”  
She can see a trail of white hair disappearing into his trousers, as well as a smattering of hair on his upper chest - and would you _look_ at the way the muscles of his arm bulge out as he bears the weight of his body up and down, veins thrown in relief, water and sweat sticking his white fringe to his forehead.  
Even if Tobirama's fighting style relies more on speed than brute strength like Hashirama's does, preferring long-range ninjutsu rather than close-range taijutsu, he still keeps his body in tip-top form in the case he has to go against such an enemy. As a fellow long-ranged fighter, Mito can respect the wisdom in his philosophy.  
When done with her muscle work, she springs up, loosening her shoulders. Then comes taijutsu practise, her body naturally flowing from one kata to to the other, her mind trying to spot every nigh invisible mistake and correcting it - raise the elbow higher, keep the fingers tenser, hold the chin lower. No matter how long she's been practising these katas, there is always room for betterment.

She flows like water. It’s _his_ element, so he would know.   
The first time they sparred together, mere days after their first meeting, he had noticed it straight away. When Mito goes through her katas her body waves and ripples, flowing like a calm brook from one stance to another. When she fights she crashes like waves raging against the shore, like an ocean at sea, both terrible and beautiful.   
Tobirama ducks his head with a sigh. He’s paying extra attention to her today and he’s not sure if it’s because she is doing something on purpose or if perhaps he is reading too much into things. It’s been quite some time since he indulged his carnal natures. If he can’t keep his eyes off of his own brother’s wife for one simple innocent training session then he thinks it might be time he slaked that particular thirst - and soon.  
His eyes stay firmly fixed on the ground below him as he switches hands and begins his one hundred count from the top. When he finishes exercising that arm as well he flows smoothly back to his feet and falls into his own kata routine, making sure to face the opposite direction.   
It might be rude to face away from her but it would be even more rude to lose his head and find himself staring at the outline of her breasts underneath the cling of wet fabric. Just because he won their spar doesn’t mean she couldn’t inflict damage if he truly inspired her wrath. 

Hidden from view, Mito allows herself to silently laugh at Tobirama's back, mirth dancing in her belly. It's quite satisfying to see his eyes follow her, so much that he prefers facing away than risking to overstep his in-law boundaries.  
Not that she's complaining: his soaked shirt gives his movements an additional allure, the thin cotton showing the shift of every muscle of his strong back.  
Her lips curl into a smirk. Far from complaining.  
Yesterday, she had planned to approach him and explain the situation: your brother is gay, I'm bored and I need children, Hashirama knows and accepts that I'm going to take a lover. I'm attracted to you, you're attracted to me, let's make a deal. Simple, easy, logical, the way Tobirama likes things to be. She's reasonably sure that he would agree, if given a few days to mull it over.  
She's changed her mind. It's been so _long_ since she last felt the thrill of the hunt. The flirting, the risk, walking the thin line between danger and pleasure.  
And it is dangerous. Tobirama is not an easy man, not an easy prey. She's going to need to be careful, slowly spelling him to her side, never too hasty lest it blows in her face.  
Tobirama is loyal to his brother to fault. Can she be stronger than that loyalty? Would Tobirama overstep that line for her sake? Can she make it worth it?  
Her smile is definitely predatory, her prey showing her his back in a show of utter vulnerability.  
She finishes her exercises before he does, so she jumps to sit on a low branch to rest, undoing her buns, letting her hair fall in a cascade of blood over her shoulders, the light breeze blowing it.

Finding himself suddenly upwind of her leaves Tobirama with Mito’s natural scent wafting teasingly past him, mixed in with the sweat of effort that he likes, the scent of someone who works hard for what they want.   
It’s distracting enough that he ends his katas sooner than he would have were he alone and uninterrupted, rationalizing that their mock-battle had burned enough calories to justify halting himself now. That doesn’t excuse him from stretching out afterwards, though. It’s foolhardy not to perform one’s ending stretches lest one end up with severe muscle cramps.   
His body twists and bends in to interesting shapes and he closes his eyes, breathing deeply while he enjoys the pull of it. On a slightly playful whim he bends over backwards and touches his fingers to the ground, bring his legs up in the the air and back down. It doesn’t accomplish much other than a bit of fun but he _does_ know what fun is no matter what Madara likes to say, the grump.  
He rolls his shoulder absently while he makes his way over to where Mito has perched herself. Her hair is down and the sight of it raises one of his brows. He’s only seen her take out her buns once or twice before and it’s always startling just how long her locks are, cascading around her in thick waves. He seems doomed to endlessly comparing her to flowing waters today. His mind must be tired.  
“I believe lunch is in order now. What are we having?”

Tobirama is almost as pliable as her, she thinks with approval as he stretches, though his legs tense up just a bit as he completes the somersault - but she guesses she can't hold it against him, since her feminine body naturally allows her a wider and nimbler range of motion.  
The somersault is a nice ending, however, so she gives him a brief, amused applause before jumping down her branch to join - incidentally doing a double somersault, her hair whipping behind her like streaks of fire.  
“I believe there's rice and fish in the fridge. Salmon, if I'm not mistaken. Perhaps you'd like it steamed with fennel?” She offers like nothing happened as she heads out of the training ground, not bothering to check he's following him - a queen does not doubt her entourage wouldn't follow her.

“Trying to tempt me with my favorite foods?” he asks the back of her. The length of her hair quite nicely hides most of her body and he’s incredibly relieved. If he can’t keep his thoughts where they should be then the best thing to do is not look and she appears to have granted him that mercy for now.  
There is something lively and bright lingering in her expression when he catches up and walks at her side instead, glancing sideways to give her a dry look.  
“I’m ashamed to say it’s working.”  
He very much hopes Hashirama is home and in a terrible twist of fate he hopes his brother is feeling extra energetic. Normally he finds following his sibling’s bouncy ramblings to be slightly exhausting, especially when he can talk and talk without truly saying anything. Today he would welcome the distraction, the reminder of fun-loving Hashirama and what an overgrown teddy bear of a man he is.   
(Maybe he can guilt himself into cleaning up his own brain.)  
The rest of the journey back towards the Senju distract is peacefully quiet, two friends walking together without feeling the need for inane chatter. Their destination is in sight, an elegant home of chakra-grown wood and the privacy gate that hides it from view, when Tobirama has to catch himself from running into the small child that dashes across his path.   
The boy is young, at a guess maybe five years old, and his apology is a toothy smile while he clutches his ball and bounces on both feet, beaming up at the second heir of his clan. Tobirama smiles back warmly, reaching out a hand to ruffle the youngling’s shaggy hair. There is something so pure about childhood that he has always liked, something he hopes to keep safe for as long as possible now that he has a village in which to protect them.   
By the time the boy dashes away Tobirama’s mind has already come to life, awhirl with half-forgotten plans for the Academy he is still in the process of creating. It’s a delicate thing, trying to balance the needs of each specific clan’s children as well as taking into account how little a child of civilian origins will know.   
Mito leads him on towards her home while Tobirama smiles to himself, delving deeply into a welcome distraction. 

It's not the first time Mito had the pleasure to see how Tobirama’s whole face lights up near kids - in his off days, the man is often found in a crowd of Senju children, and more than once Mito and Hashirama sat in silence on the sidelines, enjoying the sight of his quiet happiness, surrounded by kids of all ages, from toddler to teenager, pulling at his clothes for attention and hanging from his every words. They like him, they like the way he treats them like reasoning adults who just happen to be very short, and in return they pull him in for every mischief and game.  
Mito looks at the lingering glow in his eyes, at the gentle smile he wears, and thinks that if her plans come to fruition, this man will be the father of her child - possibly _children._ It’s a sudden realization, one that throws her a bit, but that also warms her heart. In her mind, children have always been something that come from her, something that will belong to her alone - such is the matrilineal way of Uzushio, but such is not the way of Fire. Hashirama’s comment about the father wanting to have a claim on the kids reminded her and… Well. She thinks she wouldn’t mind allowing Tobirama to raise their kid beside her.  
They walk side by side up the stone path leading to her house, Mito sneaking glances at him through the curtain of her long hair.   
“When you were that age, you already had a bounty on your head sufficient to buy a farmhouse, complete with fields and cattle,” she idly says, though her voice is low and soft. “I didn’t - but simply because nobody bothers with warring with a Clan as isolated as mine.” She humms, pensive. “But we both got kunais for our fifth birthday, didn’t we? And we knew how to use them, we knew what they were for. Did they have you kill your pet rabbit when you were four, too?”  
The smile she gives him is seraphic, but as sharp as a blade. “I won’t have my kids wake up crying, asking why they can’t have Snowball back. Will yours?”

The calm happiness of his thoughts dulls, replaced with a familiar steely determination.  
“What need had I of rabbits when I made my first kill at four?” he asks quietly, passing through the gate that leads to her property. “How often we adults like to forget that a child will defend their home as readily as an adult if they have the chance.”  
The man that had come upon him in the darkness had sought to take his life not because he had something personal against Tobirama but because it would have been a blow against Tobirama’s father. He shudders to think what would have happened if he hadn’t fallen asleep in Hashirama’s bed that night, if the first born son had come to bed when he was supposed to instead of making his sibling wait until he could stay awake no longer. Would Hashirama have been able to kill as easily as Tobirama when they were both at such tender ages?   
He tries to imagine handing his own child a blade and asking them with a blank expression to take a life, to kill a small defenseless animal, when they are still too young to truly understand the consequences upon their own psyche. He shakes his head, lengthening his stride and speaking over his shoulder as he heads for the house.  
“No child of mine will have the life that I did. Wasn’t that why we built this village?”

From the gate to the main door is a short walk, and Mito takes her time, because she feels this is a conversation they need to have - that _she_ needs to have.  
“I’ll let you in on a secret,” she says conspiringly, like a girl gossiping, but her eyes flash, hard as stone. “It’s true that my father needed me out of the way to allow my brother to take the leadership of the Clan without me undermining him, and it’s true that your Elders wanted to couple your brother’s mokuton with my family’s chakra reserves. It’s true that your clan cut mine a truly good trading deal to persuade my father.”  
“But there isn’t enough gold in Fire to buy me. I came here to my own accord.”  
Her smile softens, remembering. “Before peace was made, I told Hashirama I wouldn’t bear him kids to use as pawns in his stupid war. I said no Clan had the right to spill my children’s blood. He looked at me and he promised me my sons would never be soldiers first and children second. He said that in his dream, no parent would have to bury their kids.”  
“He said he needed more power to make his dream happen. He said he wanted my help to make it real.”  
Tobirama is looking at her with a tense, yet gentle expression. It’s an odd mix, that suits such an odd man. “There is no other place in the Elemental Nations I’d rather give birth to my children in, than Konoha”

Mito is lucky, he thinks, to have met his elder brother before she met Tobirama. If he had been the first to meet her, the first to discover the layers of her morals and her motivations, he thinks he would have proposed to her long before Hashirama did. She is so like himself. They would have made an incredible team were he so fortunate.  
Instead she married the head of his clan. Hashirama is a happier man than him, a better man than him, a more affectionate man than him. Hashirama has more to give her than he would be able to and as far as his strangely uncontrolled thoughts wander into the what ifs and could bes, he knows that she is better off where she is.   
He cannot help but to lean a bit closer. Anyone else might reach out to lay a friendly hand on her shoulder but he keeps his limbs close. He is not the best at reassurance, yet Mito has always been good at reading his body language for how he means for it to be taken.   
“I’m glad you chose to come here, then. Don’t ever forget that it is not only you and your husband who would give blood and life and limb in protection of your child. I am here also. I’m sure my cousin Touka would say the same. You became ours as much as Hashirama’s when you married into this clan.”  
Tobirama has never had a large number of precious people but he has always been fiercely protective of the ones he does have. His people _belong_ to him. An archaic, stereotypical mannish view maybe, but it’s just the way he is. 

People think Tobirama cold and selfish like a rock. Mito wonders what those ill-bred mutts would say looking at him now, smiling tentatively at her, like he’s not sure it’s the right thing to do in the wake of her confession, like he’s not sure she wants compassion but giving his support anyways.  
For a genius, he certainly lacks on the human relationship department, but Mito always found it to be part of his charm. Such a powerful man, whose name makes ninja cry and run, who gets the most befuddled and dubious expression when it comes to feelings and, kami forbid, _expressing them._ It’s endearing, in its own slightly unhinged way.  
“I’m glad to hear it.” Mito rewards his well-appreciated words and subtle show of comfort with a delicate hip check, smiling up at her friend - wordless, physical expression of affection is what boys understand better, right?   
“If you’re so ready to spill blood to protect someone else’s children, what would you do for yours?”

The effortlessness with which she steers their conversation ever so slightly in lighter directions is flawless. Tobirama huffs gently and gives her an innocent face.  
“Why, I would let them braid my hair of course.”  
He would topple nations.  
He would raze entire countries to black, smoking earth.   
He would rage and bleed and _kill, kill, kill._  
For his own child there would be nothing on this good earth he would not do, no low he would not be prepared to sink to.   
He has a feeling she knows that already, however, and so he sees no reason to say it. A lighthearted comment will do instead. He is much more at ease with deflection than with exploring the depths of his own emotions. Emotions make him itch. Filthy things. 

She huffs a laugh, pleased. Yes, Tobirama would be excellent father material. Any children they might have would surely have a brilliant future, and find a stalwart protector in him. On a practical point of view, it would be easy to let Tobirama experience being a father, since he and Hashirama are practically joined at the hips - who could tell the difference between a doting uncle and a doting father?  
“You’d better start growing your hair, then, or your kids won’t have much to braid,” she jokes, well knowing that her husband always harasses his brother about growing his hair like him.  
“Men with such a strong paternal instinct like you are rare. How comes Konoha isn’t yet bristling with little white-haired geniuses?”

“First of all, I would look _utterly ridiculous_ with long hair. If they cannot figure out how to braid this little hair then it is the fault of their own imagination.”  
He’s had enough badgering from his brother about growing his hair out and it is something he stubbornly digs his heels in about. He did try once when they were young. Back in the days when he had followed his elder brother around with stars in his eyes. He hadn’t managed to last past a shag, however, before the endless tickling of hair against the tops of his shoulders had driven him to hack it all back off with a kunai.   
“Second of all, if you can find me a woman who does not bore me to death, who can at least make a passing attempt at keeping up a decent conversation, and who feels half as strongly as I do about protecting the village...you let me know. Perhaps then I will think about passing on my DNA.”   
Hashirama _hates_ it when he calls it that. But isn’t that what having children is? Sharing a part of oneself, one’s very essence, and with it creating new life?

She likes the job description. Looks like she really is Tobirama’s type. Good to know she still has her touch.  
“Someone like me, then?” she says as she opens the door and let them inside, humor thick in her voice. She then goes on, as if what she said was the most obvious thing in the world and not an open invite to poke at the usually stoic man - she pretends it was said in levity, but she keeps a trained eye on him to judge his reaction. “You’re the guest, go wash first. Shower or bath, your choice. I’ll be in the kitchen preparing lunch.”

Tobirama does not quite miss a step but his movement slow significantly while he tries to shake her comment from him. As much as it pains him he’s going to have to set his pride aside today. He would have preferred to figure out what she is after on his own but her distractions have been good: he is sufficiently off balance enough to stop him from thinking clearly. Looks like he’s going to have to give in and simply ask.  
When Hashirama is no longer with them, of course. If what she needed from him involved her husband she would have asked him to lunch right away.   
Without another word he turns on his heel and strides out of the room, heading for the single bathroom in the large house. A shower will be faster and so a shower is what he takes, stripping off and folding his dirty clothes neatly to one side before allowing himself the pleasure of languishing in the hottest setting of water available. He uses the same bar of soap to quickly wipe his body down and scrub through his hair as well. He enjoys being clean but he’s never found the need for being extremely fancy about it.   
He redresses himself in the yukata he left here the last time he stopped to shower in his brother’s home, cleaned and folded and left in the linen cupboard by a very thoughtful Mito.   
When he returns to the kitchen he feels cleansed not just physically but mentally as well. Having a few minutes to himself afforded him the chance to straighten out his thoughts and regain control over his own mind. No more inappropriateness, he promises himself silently.   
“The shower is yours if you would like me to finish cooking while you freshen up,” he offers. Mito is not a large fan of being dirty either, he knows. 

Mito doesn’t like to cook. Oh, she can do it alright - it was part of her education, whether she wanted it or not - and she’s told her food is good, but she doesn’t like to slave at the stove the way most her friends do. Considering that Hashirama likes to cook, she generally leaves it up to him (even if she needs to oversee him, because he has the tendency to get distracted and forget the food on the fire, if left unattended.)  
Unexpectedly enough, Tobirama is a very good cook - probably because cooking is ninety percent chemistry and he so does love his experiments. Sure, he has the bad habit of forgetting to eat when he’s too immersed in his work, but when he does remember to play the functioning human, his cooking is worth taking a kunai for.  
So, when the Senju appears in the kitchen, clad in clean clothes and with his hair down, still wet, she can’t help a pleased hum. Let him deal with the damn salmon: she cooked the rice, so as far as it concerns her, she did her part.  
“Thank you,” she says, putting down the wooden spoon. She likes Tobirama with his hair down: he looks younger, softer. She also likes how his shorter yukata and tight trousers allow her an unhindered vision of his pert ass, and she does nothing to hide the appreciation in her eyes. Training as he does, his legs are lean and strong, muscles shifting with every step, and it shows.  
“I’ll be in the shower if you need me,” she calls over her shoulder as she leaves the room, untying her obi and slipping her yukata off as she walks, leaving her in her tight training bra - no kunoichi likes to exercise when her breasts are not tightly contained.   
It’s not the first time Tobirama has seen her like that - nudity is something ninja quickly grow desensitized to, after all - but never before did she wink at him, immensely enjoying his reaction before slipping into the hallway and heading to the bathroom.  
Teasing Tobirama is way more interesting that she had anticipated.

He’s never turned his head so fast in all his life - and that’s saying something considering he is known across multiple nations for his speed. She _winked_ at him. While _removing her clothing._ His head drops backwards with an exasperated sigh even as his stomach clenches and a light sheen of pink appears across his nose. The moment they are both seated for lunch he is going to get straight to the point. He has no idea what other strange behaviours she has lying in wait for him but he’s quite certain he would not survive them. Best to give in gracefully.  
And he had _just_ gotten himself under control, too. What a waste.   
Tobirama scowls to himself to erase the flash of heat while he prepares the salmon, tossing it into the pan almost viciously as if he can burn away the parts of himself that simply will not behave properly today. Then he forces himself to go through breathing exercises while he continues to cook, reaching for calm and holding it delicately between both hands.   
By the time Mito returns to the kitchen he thinks surely he will be able to remain himself from now on. It isn’t like him to be so...easily distracted. He speaks without turning around.   
“Are we eating inside or on the back deck?”  
As he reaches for the plates above his head he also mutters, “Hashirama is still within his office; his chakra hasn’t moved. His food will be cold by the time he gets here if he doesn’t hurry.”

“If that scatterbrained lug of my husband can’t remember he’s supposed to come home, he can skip lunch for all I care,” is Mito’s seraphic answer, not really feeling guilty for blatantly lying - Hashirama was never supposed to come home for lunch, today. By his own words, he wanted to pull an all day at work to have some free time tomorrow.  
Not that Tobirama needs to know it, of course. Tobirama is more than used to Hashirama forgetting day-to-day things, after all.  
Washed and clad in a clean kimono - blue and gold today - Mito feels much better, her muscles pleasantly sore from the workout. She feels energized, vibrant, like a live wire. Her long hair, left unbraided, swish behind her as she moves about the kitchen - being wind-natured comes in handy when it comes to drying one’s hair quickly.   
“And I was thinking of eating outside, since the weather seems to hold.” With utter nonchalance, Mito hip checks Tobirama out of the way from the stoves to reach the plates in the drawer above. Where Touka or Hashirama would have sent Tobirama stumbling simply because they don’t care to contain their strength, Mito gently pushes at him, perhaps prolonging the contact a tad longer than she would usually, just for the simple pleasure of being so close to him.  
Plates in hand, she lays a wayward caress on Tobirama’s naked forearm before heading to the porch to lay the table.

Tobirama spares a moment to glare down at his own arm as if it somehow betrayed him. Was it necessary for her to touch him? She’s very aware that he does not generally care for casual contact: there’s too much potential for hidden intent.   
He’s sure there is a slight pout on his face as he follows her outside but does nothing about it. Mito is the sort that likes to see that she is winning and he thinks that perhaps if she does she will be more open about telling him what the hell is going on.  
He waits until they are both seated and ready for their meal, until they have both taken a few bites, before he lowers his chopsticks and looks at her from the corner of his eye. “You need something,” he says bluntly. “What is it?”   
He’s never seen much point in beating around the bush. The problems usually start when the person he is questioning starts being vague. He detests vagueness. 

Mito finishes chewing the bite she took, delicately cleaning her lips with her napkin - coincidentally hiding her amused grin.   
She always liked this painful honesty in Tobirama. For all that he was raised a ninja like everyone around them, he has little patience for the subterfuge all others enjoy. Double meanings and secrets have a way of bleeding out of missions and into your private life: after a while, a shinobi simply can’t stop being sneaky, holding all their cards close, jealousy.  
Tobirama, in its typical stark logic, finds it a waste of time. Oh, he can keep a secret alright, he can do subtle alright, but in daylife he prefers treating facts as facts, disregarding all human emotion tied to it. Mito likes it, trying to talk as openly as she can because she sees it relaxes him to be allowed the impression of being able to put the ninja on hold for a while - but the man too often discards emotion when dealing with people.  
“I only wanted your company. Am I not allowed to enjoy your company, Tobirama?” She doesn’t deny she sought him out for a purpose - she won’t insult his wits when she knows _he knows_ she has a second goal.  
Mito could explain about Hashirama. She could tell him she wants him as a lover.  
She won’t. There is more to this than simply the fact of it, than the simple taking Tobirama to bed, than getting pregnant. 

Today simply isn’t his day, it seems. Mito appears to be in the mood to play coy despite knowing how it irks him. He very carefully does not sigh in exasperation.   
“I can’t imagine why you would,” he says, turning back to his food. “I’m told I’m not good company.”   
_He_ thinks he’s pretty good company, but he also seems to operate in different spheres than most of the population. It’s what frustrates him when he tries to hold a conversation with most people, their inability to think like him, see things like him, understand his reasoning. He usually finds an ally in Mito when it comes to those things but if she wants to play innocent today he despairs of getting a straight answer from her.   
Not that he isn’t going to try, of course.  
“It isn’t that. You need something else but you’re not saying what. Would you care to share?”

“Oh, it’s nothing,” she says, making an airy motion with her hand. “I wanted to ask a favour of you - but then I thought back to what you said once to Hashirama, that things given to you have much less value than things you conquer for yourself, and I decided I’m going to do it my way.” She raises her glass of water towards Tobirama in a silent toast, laughing inwardly at his put upon expression.  
“And of course you’re good company. It not your fault most of the people you have to do with are inbred mules.” She smiles and raises an eyebrow, because both of them are thinking of Uchiha Madara for sure. That’s what she would call ‘unpleasant company’, not Tobirama. “I’d even go out a limb and say you’re my best friend here.”

“Hmm.” It’s a good thing the people close to him know him well or he’s sure she would take offense to his non-answer to that statement. Expressing himself is not his forte and he finds words to be superfluous much of the time. A simple hum to acknowledge what she said will do; there’s no need to go into overly emotional detail about how touched he is that she considers him to be her best friend.   
Even if he _is_ rather touched.   
He would also return the words if it weren’t absolutely pointless. She is rater obviously his only friend outside of family. She sort of wins the title from him by default.   
“So instead of telling me what it is you wanted from me you’re going to be secretive about it, then?” He allows a small sigh now. “I hate mind games. I certainly hope you don’t have anything elaborate running through that head of yours.”   
If she wanted to, he’s sure Mito could spin a web over the entire village and embroil them all in her mind games. The citizens around them don’t know how lucky they are that she doesn’t seem to fancy the idea of it. She could have every man and woman eating from her palm and saying thank you for the morsels she gives out.   
Tobirama scrunches his nose briefly, turning his head to hide the expression. He’d be right alongside the rest and he well knows it. At least _he_ would have the ability to resist - for a small time. 

Tobirama’s small humm makes the corner of her lips quirk up, her chin in her hand, watching him as he delicately sniff each morsel of salmon - old habits die hard, even in the safety of one’s house.  
For all that he accuses her of being secretive, he’s the first who hides himself behind a facade, pretending to feel nothing at all when there are so many undercurrents in his mind and soul. That he would accept her declaration of friendship with the same ease she gave it with warms her - she knows she’s special for having a small corner of the Senju’s heart to herself.  
“Oh, don’t worry,” she says, tapping her chopsticks to her lips, licking the soy sauce off the tips. “You’re going to _enjoy it._ I can promise you that.”

Tobirama pauses with the last bite of rice halfway to his lips, looking over at her with narrowed eyes.   
“Why do I get the impression that I should start running now?” he asks.   
Mito gives him a look that he’s only ever seen on her, half innocent and half utterly mischievous. He’s never seen anyone else pull such a look of before and have it work.   
(He may have tried it once in the mirror and he really hopes that no Yamanaka ever has a reason to go rifling through his mind. No one ever needs to know about that.)  
On the one hand he trusts Mito and if she says that he will enjoy whatever it is she’s getting up to then in all likelihood he will; she knows his tastes better than Hashirama does. On the other hand he knows her and he’s had to duck and cover away from her plots more than once before.   
When he doesn’t drop the suspicious face Mito looks as if she will start to laugh. The urge to run only increases.


	3. More To It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mito is ruthless.

Mito: Holly  
Tobirama: Rae

The door to the balcony opens with a slam, making Mito look up sharply - and the boy who had the bad idea to barge in on her shrieks, freezing up, his wide blue eyes fixed on the two senbons embedded into the wooden frame of the threshold, just shy of his fingers.  
Thankfully for him, Mito recognized him as Akamichi Saito and held her steel needles, opting only for scaring him. Foolish children, startling veteran ninja like that.   
The boy swallows, hiding his hands behind his back, panting as if he run through the whole Konoha. There is fear and respect in his eyes when he looks up at her, and she nods primly, giving him leave to talk, slipping a finger in the scroll she was reading not to lose her mark.  
“Mito-sama, I _know_ you don’t like to be disturbed, but-” his words come broken, still panting heavily as he is, and she stays in judgemental silence, barely rising an eyebrow. Someone needs more endurance training, don’t they? She knows the boy’s mother, she will make sure to mention it.  
“But Tobirama-sama just came back from a mission and the Hokage is not in and he’s all bloody and he wants to make a report and he won’t take a no and he’s scaring everyone.” Silence meets his rambling. He starts twitching, uneasy, until he breaks and he claps his hands in front of him like in a prayer, bowing his head. “Please help us, Mito-sama?”   
The Uzumaki is amused by the touch of desperation in his voice, so she slips down the parapet and joins him, rolling up the mission repost she was reading - she likes to do her reading on that balcony of the admin building. She doesn’t much care for indoor spaces, when the weather is still so nice.  
“Lead the way,” she says, and the boy lightens up as if he was just told his birthday came early. “Thank you!” he chirps, turning on his heels and marching back inside the building, down the hallway and up a flight of stairs.  
Mito follows him, torn between amusement, irritation and worry. Of course her dear husband had to go and frolic with his ‘best friend’ right when his brother was coming back from his mission - hurt, at that. Nobody likes to be hurt, but any wounds has the tendency to put Tobirama in a truly foul mood: no wonder he’s terrorizing the younger help.  
When she enters the mission report room, she discovers it strangely absent of any adult ninja: they probably hit the windows as soon as they spied Tobirama’s bad mood, leaving the younger generation to bear the brunt of the godly shinobi.  
Tobirama himself is leaning on one of the desks, berating a girl who sank so deep in her chair Mito can see her from the eyes up, hidden by the desk as she is.  
“Tobirama, stop scaring the kids.” The Senju turns to look at her, and the girl takes advantage of his distraction to disappear with a kawarimi, leaving a stack of paper in her place.   
Mito would be chuckling inwardly - good survival instincts, that one - if she wasn’t so trained on Tobirama and the blood splatters on his armour. There is a red shadow on his neck, like he wiped out some blood but only managed to spread it unevenly - and she’s sure that if his clothes weren’t black, she would be seeing more blood.  
“Oh, what did you _do_? You’ve been gone only three days.”

Tobirama would scoff if his throat weren’t still so sore from the blow it had taken from a wooden polearm only a few hours ago. He does manage a rather pleasant glare, however, especially when he notices that the one who had needed an impromptu lesson on manners has fled.   
“I’m fine,” he growls. Talking isn’t so bad. The pain is bearable until he starts trying to make the more violent noises. (He got some dust in his mouth on the way here and the coughing felt like fire.)  
“If the incompetent idiots that work for my stupidly absent brother would only manage to do their jobs correctly for one bloody afternoon then I would be able to get home much faster and clean this filth off of me.”  
Three days he has been gone indeed but it was three days with multiple small groups of enemies on his tail, harrying him with slash and run tactics, traps on the route he had hoped would be free and easy to take, airborne toxins and long-range weapons. He is tired, dirty, wounded, and _stubborn._ He has no desire to wake up tomorrow with the paperwork for this mission from hell still lingering over his head. He wants it done and out of the way now.   
Then he’s going to go home, fall into a hot bath, and give a very serious attempt at drowning himself in it just to avoid the stupidity he has just slogged through between here and that stupid civilian village his target had been hiding out in.   
If that doesn’t work maybe he’ll give some thought to healing the cuts on his back. Perhaps even the crack he is sure he’ll find in the bones of his left arm. If he’s feeling extra energetic he might even put forth the effort to healing the other myriad small wounds: bruised shins, scraped knuckles, the slice on his neck he thinks must be from a tree because he certainly doesn’t remember allowing any blades that close to his throat.

Mito barely resist from eyerolling, knowing Tobirama wouldn’t appreciate it - he’s on a short fuse, and she doesn’t want to risk him blowing off on her when she only wants to help.  
The Akamichi boy is still close to her - he should have learnt from his colleague and taken his leave when he could - so she grabs him with the speed of snake, gently but firmly pulling him to the desk. “Here, Saito-kun, take his papers and process them, would you?” Mercilessly, she plucks Tobirama’s report from his fingers and shoves it into the Akamichi’s, giving him an utterly sweet smile. “Thank you, darling. Report to the Hokage when you’re done. I’ll be sure to tell your mother of your help.” Stuck between a rock and a hard place, the boy shoots wild looks around him - but all his colleagues finally got the point and disappear in puffs of smoke. Defeated, the Akamichi boy hangs his head, nodding, staring at the report as if it were a snake ready to bite him.  
Satisfied, without giving anyone time to complain - on either part - Mito pulls up on Tobirama’s right and links their arms together, gently but surely herding him out of the room. “And you, you’re coming with me.”   
She noticed the rigid way he’s holding his left arm, and how he’s favouring a leg over the other, and she doesn’t like it very much. Daft men, why can’t they even take care of themselves?

“What?” he says, just barely stopping himself from snapping at her at the very last second, though he still sounds far from enthused. “Where?”  
He’s not in the mood to go anywhere. He wants to go home and while it does hurt to move his arm the pain would certainly be worth it to flicker away with just a quick seal. Mito doesn’t seem to care much for what he wants at the moment and he scowls openly as she leads him through the Tower.  
“Whatever it is, can it not wait? Until next month, preferably, as that is how long I plan on sleeping.”   
Each step causes small jolts to run through him from many different points in his battered body and none of it is helping his mood improve. He passed ‘annoyed’ a day and a half ago, slid well in to ‘pissed off’ this morning. If he isn’t allowed to sit down and relieve the aches in his limbs he is dangerously close to achieving ‘enraged’.   
When he’s feeling better he’s going to cut all of Hashirama’s hair off in his sleep, the overly chipper bastard. He was the one to insist that only Tobirama could find the target with his oh-so-special sensory skills. Honestly, if someone else would only train their skills properly instead of always relying on him to complete the harder jobs then he would have less than half the stress he does in his life. 

“No, it cannot wait,” she delicately steamrolls right over him, holding his arm firmly as they exit the admin building, allowing Tobirama the illusion of being the one leading them. “We’re going to your place, where I’m going to help you treat those wounds. Then you’re going to sleep, even if I have to tie you to the bed to keep you there.”  
He tries to slip his arm out of her hold, be it for the innuendo or her plan - and for all answer, she closes her fingers around his wrist like a vice, still giving the impression they’re just having a peaceful stroll through the Village.   
“The moment I turn my back you’ll try to work or neglect your wounds, so I’m not letting you go. And if you keep squirming, let me remind you that I am more than able to pick you up and carry you home myself. Is that what you want, Tobirama?”

“I am more than capable of healing my own wounds, thank you very much,” he grumbles, trying half-heartedly to wrestle his arm out of her grip. He doesn’t gain so much as an inch but then he’s not trying all that hard. He doesn’t want to jostle the rest of himself and she’s a damn sight stronger than most give her credit for.  
Since he doesn’t seem to be having any luck retrieving his trapped limb he resorts to grumbling under his breath, half to her and half to himself.  
“I am a _grown man._ I’ve been taking care of myself since I was a child. I am more than decent with iryojustu and if you think I need to be coddled you are _wrong.”_  
The knowledge that he has lowered himself to acting like a child does nothing to stop the verbal pouting, nor the fierce scowl that turns down the corners of his mouth and darkens his eyes. He is perfectly aware of the irony of his behaviour when he has only just insisted that he is a grown adult.   
He doesn’t _care._ He’s entitled to his bad moods just the same as everyone else is.

“I’m glad you’re no child, or I’d be feeling quite awkward in getting you to bed,” she drawls, huffing through her nose. At least Tobirama stopped trying to get free, since he apparently decided their goal coincide. Thank goodness his house is not far from the power centre of Konoha, and soon the Senju block is in sight.  
“Come on, you’re almost there. You get a bath, some salve, a soft bed. If you’re good, you may even get food. Isn’t that a good plan? You can curse your brother and we can plot how to get back at him and at Madara.”

“I was thinking of channeling my inner child and cutting off all his hair.” He gives it some thought for a moment. “If we cut off Madara’s too we could sell it as a wig.”  
It occurs to him that the pain may be affecting him more than he had been prepared to admit because what’s coming out of his mouth is utter drivel and yet he cannot seem to stop himself from continuing.   
“I can just see it now. Uchiha Madara, bald at only twenty-six years old, spotting some poor defenseless woman walking down the street while wearing his hair. Do you think he’d try to take it back?”  
He really should have taken the time to sleep at least once during the three days he was gone if this is the sort of thing that his mind is coming up with now. He generally tries not to waste any precious mental energy thinking about Madara. No matter how amusing the thought is.

The mental picture is simply too hilarious: the Uchiha with a smooth bald head, frothing at the mouth because a pretty girl - no, make it an old woman - walks by him sporting long, luscious black hair. Oh, his expression! Mito would love to have it photographed and hung on her wall.   
“He would,” she chuckles, tilting her head back and laughing at the blue sky, her buns bobbing. “Oh, it would be such a cat fight! Imagine the chaos! The infamy! I would pay gold to witness it.”  
She turns to glance at her companion, shoulders shaking with mirth. “Hashirama would just look at the woman wearing his hair with his sad puppy face. He would probably try to beg it back, only to somehow offend the lady and getting socked in the jaw for his efforts. Or beaten with a cane.” Tobirama’s idea has merit.  
“Sneaking up on Hashirama as he sleeps is not difficult. Madara, however… I believe we could enlist Touka’s help. Izuna is still making cow eyes at her, am I right? I believe that if she were to ask him, he’d shave his brother in a blink.”

As is his nature, he’s already come up with three different plans they could consider to actually go through with this ridiculous notion by the time Mito helps him through the front door to his house. He doesn’t live very far from her and he wonders if she were heading home anyway, simply walking along with him because it was on the way.   
Now that they have arrived at his intended destination, however, much of the silliness drains away from him. He’s so close to the shower now he can practically taste it and suddenly he’s in a hurry to wash off. It feels like the most pressing thing in the world, more so than sleep or healing and wrapping his hurts. If he could only be clean his mood would surely improve tenfold immediately.  
“I thank you for your - unasked for - assistance. I believe I will be fine from here.”   
Despite the confidence in his words, Mito does not release her grip on his arm even a little. In fact, she tightens it while one of her brows lift and suddenly there is an edge to her mirthful smile that tells him he’s done something wrong. He glares back a little.   
It isn’t wrong to want to rest in private. He’ll do everything she listed: bath, salve, rest. But he can do all of these things on his own. He always has before and he sees no reason he should deviate from pattern now.   
She does not appear to agree. 

“I _know_ you can do fine on your own. You wouldn't have reached the ripe age of twenty four if you didn’t.” She’s not condescending, she knows she’s telling the truth. She really does respect his independency. She also knows that if she doesn’t reassure him, he will turn her away. Tobirama is arrogant like that, thinking that anyone who doesn’t get him is beneath him.  
“I know you _can_ , but you don’t _need_ to. Teamwork makes things faster and more pleasant. As much as you pretend, you’re not one of Wind’s puppets. You’re made of flesh and bone and a heart - and right now the former is hurt, you have at least one of the second broken and the latter would do well with some company.”  
She finally lets him go, cocking a hip as she taps a finger on his chest plate. “Also, getting your armour off is going to be a pain on your own. So, are you going to let me in or do I have to let myself in?”

His first instinct is to snarl ‘I’d like to see you try’ but seeing as how he wouldn’t actually like to see that at the moment, he manages to resist the urge.   
Instead of answering with words he raises his free hand to unbuckle the strap on the left side of his armor. Or rather, he tries to. Raising his arm makes him wince ever so slightly and where he would have simply pushed through the pain if he were alone Mito instead catches his arm with narrowed eyes.   
He casts his own to the side in annoyance, allowing her to undo the buckles for him. He hates needing help of any kind. It makes him feel weak, as though he were incapable of caring for his own basic needs.   
Not that it isn’t nice when someone takes the time to forcefully shove it in his face how much they care about him. He _is_ grateful that Mito is going through the effort for him. He’s just a little too grumpy to show it still. He’ll have to apologize later somehow.   
“I want to shower before anything else,” he insists in a low voice, aiming away from petulance and reasonably certain he succeeds. 

Gently herding Tobirama inside his house, Mito closes the door before fully unlatching his armour. “Of course you do,” she agrees. In consideration with his left arm, she unbuckles all the left side, slipping the whole thing off his right side. “You’re not going to like taking that shirt off,” she warns him as she lays the blue armour in a corner.  
Her eyes sweep from the chipped left shoulder to how he’s holding his left arm. The shirt is not torn, so… “You parried a heavy blow with your shoulder? It must have been one hell of a swing to break the bone under the armour plate,” she comments offhandedly before pulling out a kunai from a secret pocket in her kimono sleeve.  
“Just hold still, alright? I’m going to cut it off.” Tobirama doesn’t so much as blink at her, showing a great deal of trust. Even when she lays the tip of the blade on his shoulder he doesn’t flinch, simply looking down to keep track of her movements. Carefully, Mito makes a cut from shoulder to wrist, freeing the wounded arm from the cloth. Tobirama winces, trying to hold the arm as still as possibly, Mito’s fingers delicately wrapped around his elbow.  
Satisfied, she moves closer to cut the rest of the shirt off, her kunai making a sharp line down Tobirama’s side. She’s relieved to see no wounds on his torso - his armour did its job - but there is some heavy bruising on his back. Looks like a bad fall, or a strong kick.   
Even bruised as he is, hair caked with dust, thick bags under his eyes, Tobirama is handsome. There is an air like that of a resting leopard to him, bowed but not broken, a firmness not unlike that of steel. Pale like a winter morning, he stands in his dirty black trousers, looking at her, his red eyes dull and farway.  
“Are you sure you want a shower? I can draw you a bath. The water spray could jostle your arm,” she offers as she puts the kunai way, discarding the ruined shirt next to the armour and heading towards his bathroom.

Reaching up with his good arm, Tobirama scrubs at his face. It hadn’t been easy keeping the stubble at bay, shaving in the river at three in the morning with only a tube of medical ointment in place of shaving cream. He’s not sure what it says about him that he will stop and take the time to shave but not to sleep.   
“As long as I get clean, I couldn’t be bothered for how it happens,” he says as he absently follows Mito into the bathroom.   
If someone told him right then that the fastest way to get clean would be to allow his summons to lick him clean he would very seriously consider it. Maybe. His summons have terrible breath at the best of times.  
He leans against the closest wall as Mito fills the tub, staring off into space while his eyelids droop. Now that he has made it back to the village and into the safety of his home, the fatigue is quickly catching up with him. He’s rather glad she suggested a bath instead if a shower; lying down and soaking in hot water sounds heavenly at the moment.  
Once everything is prepared, Mito straightens and gives him a considering look. Tobirama blinks slowly.  
“I certainly hope you’re not planning to stay. I’m not getting into that bath in my clothing after all. You’ll see some rather unsightly things if you continue to stand there.” Mentally, he does another slow blink. That sounded almost flirtatious. He _really_ must be tired. 

That makes her laugh. “I highly doubt any part of you could be _unsightly_ ,” she says, shaking her head in amusement as she testes the water's temperature with a hand.  
Turning towards him, still sitting on the bathtub’s edge, she raises an eyebrow at him. “I grew up with two brothers and had more lovers than you've had sweets. You don't have anything I haven't seen already.”  
She points at his right foot, which even now the man isn't putting down normally, only the ball of it touching the tiled floor. “Between that and the bruises on your back, you're not going to like bending to pull down your trousers.” She stands up languidly, tilting her head. “So? May I help you?”

“Can you - no!” Tobirama gives her an incredulous look. “That’s...inappropriate, is it not? You’re a married woman now, no matter how many people you’ve seen naked.”  
He doesn’t really take to heart her comment about sleeping with more people than he has. She’s likely correct. He doesn’t typically sleep with just anyone, not even if they’re extremely attractive. He’s always needed a connection to feel comfortable being in such a vulnerable state with someone.   
His hand strays to the tie holding up his last article of clothing almost protectively, muttering, “You can’t just take off a man’s trousers.”  
He wouldn’t mind some help with his ankle wrappings but he definitely would not be comfortable flaunting his bits in front of another man’s wife. He wouldn’t want someone flaunting themselves in front of _his_ wife, were he to have one, and he tries hard to live by the standard with which he would like to be treated. 

It takes effort not to laugh out loud, instead hiding a chuckle behind her hand. “Oh, believe me, I _can_.” Though usually she doesn't have to take the trousers off a man, for the man is eager enough to get rid of them himself.  
She gets up, her kimono sleeves flowing easily with her. The utter dichotomy doesn't escape Mito: her, relaxed like a curious cat, and Tobirama, tense as a wooden board.  
“My being a married woman doesn't prevent me from helping a friend who just came home from a mission from hell,” she says reasonably, coming up beside Tobirama. The man looks at her with utter confusion, like the notion doesn't even make sense.   
She rolls her eyes. Fire ninja, all prudes. No concept at all of camaraderie. As much as she wants into Tobirama's pants, she honestly doesn't find her offer that inappropriate. It's not like she offered to blow him, for kami’s sake.  
“Seriously, I had an easier time charming the pants off a monk. Hashirama will never know it, if that eases your mind. I'm sure he wouldn't mind anyways - he's your brother, he wants the best for you.”  
Still he looks ready to bite her, and Mito sighs, hunching her shoulders a bit, eyelids fluttering in honest sadness. “Just... Let me help you. I don't like to see you in pain, Tobirama.”

“That smacks of trickery and is not helping,” he says under his breath when she mentions his brother. “ _I_ will know.”   
Then she looks at him with genuine sadness in her eyes and Tobirama can feel himself giving in already. So much for an ironclad will. It takes much to earn Mito’s sadness and he feels like nothing so much as an ass for doing it now just by refusing her help.   
Still, what she offers is quite far out of his comfort zone. Casual nudity is simply not his style. Even the public onsen leaves him stiff with discomfort on the rare occasion it’s necessary to use one, away from home on a mission. He’s not ashamed, just private.   
He shifts against the wall still propping him up. Were he a lesser man he would be trying to shrink back into it with muted embarrassment. His face is twisted in a grimace half of discomfort and half of apology while he does some quick mental gymnastics, trying to find some sort of compromise. How can he let her help while still maintaining his modesty? Mito’s eyes seem almost like dark rain clouds as they blink up at him, begging him to just let her help, and he finally capitulates with a grunt.  
“I’m not entirely comfortable with this but you can help _if_ you hand me something with which to cover myself. And for kami’s sake don’t stand to my front. I don’t care how many of those you’ve seen, you don’t need to see mine today. In fact, perhaps it would be best if you closed your eyes as well.”  
He huffs at her raised eyebrows. “What? You’re a shinobi as much as I am. You don’t need your eyes to do something as simple as helping me...ah...undress.”  
It sounds terrible when he says it out loud.  
Kami he hopes Hashirama really doesn’t find out about this. Nothing truly untoward is happening but the implications are there and he doesn’t like the taste of near-betrayal it leaves in his mouth. 

“Don’t worry, I can take a man’s trousers off in my sleep,” she agrees, irony thick in her voice.  
She plucks a towel from a nearby shelf and hands it to the prude man. “There. For your virtue, winter rose.” She isn’t above some teasing, especially when he brought it upon himself - she’s found out men often give their best when their value is questioned.  
She kneels behind him, her nimble fingers undoing the wraps on his left leg - and the ankle thus revealed, like she expected, is swollen and red-blue with bruises. Not being able to shoot him a reproachful glare from where she is, she tuts at him.  
The other wrapping comes off without a hitch, so she discards the dirty rolls of cloth and reaches for his trousers, hooking her thumbs on the band of trousers and underwear alike. The man goes stiff as a board under her hands, muscles coiling and shifting in unease - not exactly the reaction she’s used to getting.  
Not wanting to scare him off and knowing what it’s like to be forced out of one’s comfort zone, she delicately pulls the two items down, revealing a pale, pert ass, the curve of it smooth with muscle. She wants to kiss the dip of the spine above his buttocks, trail her lips downwards, parting those strong legs to lay hot kisses on the inside of his thighs.  
She doesn’t, of course. But she thoroughly enjoys the revealing of every inch of pale skin, getting a peek of his balls and penis in the small gap between his legs.

It’s been awhile since he last let a woman take his clothes off - and the last time was certainly in a more intimate context. He’s very grateful that he is so tired at the moment because his body seems to think that this particular situation is intimate as well; he can feel the stirring inside him and tamps it down viciously. Not the time. _Not_ the right person.   
As soon as his feet are free of his pants, leaving him naked as the day he was born, he wraps the towel he’s holding around his waist and steps away from the one helping him. She’d called him a prude and he hadn’t bothered to correct her. Certainly many might think him to be a prude. He isn’t really: he’s had his fair share of experimental nights doing things that one simply does not discuss in polite company.   
What makes the back of his neck heat up are the stringent moral guidelines that he keeps in his head, the thick walls he’s built between what is correct and what is incorrect. It’s in his nature to be hyper-organized, even inside his own thoughts. Their actions just now straddled one of those walls, dipping a toe into the realm of what is not correct, and he’s not going to feel comfortable until he can firmly root himself back where he feels he should be.   
“Thank you,” he says in a stilted voice, feeling off balance from being so close to her. “I believe I can manage from here.”  
His eyes drift toward the tub and he finds himself staring longingly at the steam rising off the water. It’s going to sting like a bitch to lower his many tiny cuts and bruises in to that heat but at the same time he knows it’s going to feel _so good_ on his sore muscles. 

“You're welcome,” she says as she gets up, straightening her kimono. “It was a pleasure to help you.” She knows how to read her clues, and she skirted the line as it is. A good ninja knows when enough is enough.  
“Go soak. If I see you out of that bathtub before half an hour, I'm going to dunk you back in it.” She smiles, her threat not any less real only because her voice is chipper.   
“I'll bring you some clean clothes.” Sensing Tobirama's disapproval, she rolls her eyes before he can even mutter a word. “I'll leave them outside the door. I won't peek.”  
She stops on the threshold, waving at the man. “I'll prepare something to eat. Don't try to see to those bruises on your back on your own.” She holds up a glass pot of salve she pilfered from a shelf. “I'm confiscating it. I won't have you straining yourself. See you later!”  
Without giving him time to answer, she slips out of the door, closing it behind her. She stands there for a few moments, keeping an ear out, ready to intervene in case she hears him slipping and crashing. All she hears however is the sound of splashing, so she heads to the kitchen, a satisfied smile on her lips.

He was right on both counts. It stings like a bitch. And it feels incredible at the same time.   
Tobirama lets his head drop back and his body go lax as the hot water laps at his chin, sinking down even further until only his nose is peeking out above it. His eyes close and he lets himself drift into nirvana while he soaks away the sweat and grime from three days of unnecessary frustrations. Within a couple of minutes he has managed to put the entirety of that stupid mission from his mind. Within ten he has forgotten (most of) his anger with his brother.  
At fifteen minutes he decides it might behoove him to actually soap himself down while he’s in here. He feels blissfully blank while he reaches for the bar of soap and languidly runs it across his chest with his good hand, half amused and half disgusted with the way it leaves trails of different colored skin behind. His normally pale body has been turned a soft grey with travel dust, in some places black with caked on blood. That’s discounting the bruises, though. Those are a motley of different shades ranging from green to purple to nearly as black as the dried blood.   
He manages to almost entirely cleanse himself - slowly and with a great deal of relish - before the pleasant emptiness in his head is invaded. He reaches for the bar of soap under the water to run it along the inside of his thighs when an image of Mito pops into his head and his entire body jolts, causing the water to splash against the sides of the tub and his muscles to give a scream of protest.   
The Mito in his head is smirking dangerously and he glares at nothing.   
‘Inappropriate’, he growls silently to himself. ‘Extremely inappropriate.’  
A quick shake sprays water everywhere but also forcefully clears his thoughts. The moment he reaches down to continue his cleaning, however, he can’t help but imagine his own fingers as smaller, delicate ones. The ghost sensation of thumbs slipping along the skin of his waist almost makes him arch his back and he reflexively snatches his hand back away from his thighs.  
With a frown, he decides it would be best to get out of the bath now. Sitting here naked with thoughts of Mito in his head is not going to go in any kind of good direction.   
Once he is out and towelled off he checks to make sure Mito’s signature is away in another room before cracking the door open and retrieving the clothing she had left for him. Then he blinks. He had intended to sleep after eating, of course, but he had also intended to properly dress himself until his company had left. She’s brought him a sleeping yukata - and a particularly short one at that. He’d forgotten he still had this, having grown out of it some time ago.   
There’s nothing for it, however. He’ll have to wear it, since there’s nothing else. It’s certainly better than wandering past the kitchen in naught but a towel.   
When he does make his way into the kitchen Mito has a plate waiting for him on the table, simple foods easy to eat and easy to digest. He’s sure that it’s less of his needs she is thinking of and more of her distaste for cooking but either way he is very appreciative. He awards her a smile and a quick, heartfelt “Thank you” before lowering himself into the closest seat, pulling the plate towards him, and falling on the food like a starving wolf. 

Mito sits at the table, propping her chin in her hand as she watches Tobirama eat. It’s good that he’s so hungry: it means his body is clamouring for nutrients to heal itself. Tobirama is a great ninja, it’s rare to see him beaten up - he usually patches himself up right away. That he didn’t have enough chakra to do it this time is a big clue to how hard this mission was on him.  
It’s still much better than that horrible mission four months ago, where all Tobirama’s team was killed and he managed to hiraishin himself at a guard post on the border of Fire by sheer stubbornness. They had honestly feared he wouldn’t make it, such was the bad state he was in.  
She hides a grimace. The memory of Tobirama, too pale on a too white hospital bed, _(like a corpse in a white-silk coffin)_ is one she doesn’t much care for. She remembers the wheezing, wet sound he made with every breath, his eyelids twitching in fevered dreams, how cold his hands were-  
Mito swallows, breathing in deeply through her nose. She reaches out to brush the back of Tobirama’s right hand, just to feel its warmth. The man stills, the chopsticks going lax and letting the piece of scrambled egg fall into the plate. He looks down at the point of contact with a quizzical look, then blinks at her, raising an eyebrow.   
“I’m glad you made it back,” she admits. She’s a kunoichi born and bred, she saw too many people leave and never come back. She learnt to deal with grief as a kid, but sometimes it’s the near misses that hit her the most.

His hand twitches, half turning under her touch. If not for the strange thoughts that he can’t seem to stop himself from having he might have allowed himself to turn his hand completely and gasp hers in a gesture of comfort. The strange incident in the bath stills him, his palm instead pressing flat against the tabletop like he’s trying to get away from her. He hopes she doesn’t take offense. His own weaknesses are neither her fault nor her problem.   
“I’m rather glad myself,” he says. “It beats the alternative: dying in a ditch somewhere.”   
It’s incredibly touching that she worries for him but he still has no idea to respond to the emotion in her voice nor the look in her eye. She looks as if losing him will cost her some price she is unwilling or unable to pay. It makes him drop his eyes to his plate and shift in his seat because he feels the same yet he has no words to express that in kind. “Thank you for the meal,” he says again, just for something to say, some topic to deflect upon. 

Tobirama’s stilted, awkward words steal a dark chuckle out of her. “Emotions won’t actually give you cooties, you know,” she says as she pulls her hand back. The Senju’s brain is wired differently from other people’s - for all that he’s a genius, able to see connections other people simply aren’t able to think of, kami dislikes excesses and had him pay with his ability to relate with people. Oh, Tobirama understands emotions perfectly and feels them himself, but he simply doesn’t seem to know what to do with them. He seems to think himself superior to them, considering them imperfections marring his mind.  
It’s partly why Mito has been stepping so lightly around him with her game. Tobirama feels uneasy when people make overtures with him: he needs to feel in control by making the first move, so she always has to pay attention that her own actions never cause him to retract in his shell like a hedgehog. During the week that passed from her chat with Hashirama and Tobirama’s mission, Mito made a point of spending more time with him - training, working, relaxing, eating, you name it. It was nice to once again be wearing her body like a jewel, flirting with her body more than with her words. Tobirama knows how to deal with words, but he doesn’t know how to answer or turn down the messages she sends with motion alone, and she mercilessly took advantage of that - she’s _still_ taking advantage of, even right now.  
Whatever she did, part of her attention was always on him - and in return, part of Tobirama’s was on her. And oh, how she basked in it, lapping it up like a blossoming rose reaching for the sun.  
Even now, tired and sore as he is, he looks up at her, even when their talk makes him uncomfortable. She doesn’t know what he sees in her grey eyes, but it makes him lean towards her of a slight fraction, and she smiles wider.  
“Are you full or do you want something else?”

He’s tired - very tired - it’s the only thing he can think of to excuse the retort that reflexively falls from his lips.   
“That depends on what you mean by _something else._ ” His tone is dark, suggestive, and he actually straightens in his seat to blink at his companion in surprise. “That - I didn’t mean it like that. I apologize.”   
Not even he can deny that this time the red spreading out across his nose is from embarrassment, sheer mortification. Did he really just openly flirt with her? No. No of course not. He hadn’t meant it in the way it sounded, he rationalizes. He’d only meant to ask if she were going to stay and keep him company or if she were offering him more food.   
Lights spark behind his eyelids while he rubs at his eyes and mutters, “More food would be wonderful, if that’s what you meant.” 

Satisfaction is an addictive feeling, bubbling up her throat like laughter, threatening to spill from her lips. She likes the way Tobirama blushes - it’s so obvious, on his pale complexion. It makes her want to give him a good reason to blush, steal his sanity away and drown him in sheets and hot sweat. She wants his hands on her, caressing her breasts, her hips, her thighs. She wants to see how far that blush would spread if she were to map his body with her tongue.  
“Oh, do seduce away. It’s been _so long_ ,” she laughs airily, getting up, and she knows she’s grinning. She takes the long route to the stoves, passing behind Tobirama, her fingers brushing his nape and his silky, damp hair. “More tomatoes and eggs coming you way,” she says as if nothing happened, opening the fridge to gather more food - but the purr in her voice belies the fiction.

He is infinitely grateful now, though now he’s only grateful that she turned away. It allows him the time to choke quietly on the last bite of his food and go through a range of what must have been very interesting expressions.   
How can it possibly have been that long since this woman was seduced? What on earth has Hashirama been doing? To have a woman like _Uzumaki Mito_ bound to yourself for life yet evidently leave her wanting enough that she feels free to make a joke of it must be considered a crime in some countries.   
Involuntarily, his eyes drag upwards to sweep down her form. To have a woman like that is surely the goal of every man alive and to keep her happy should be a life’s work for any person lucky enough to catch her. Hashirama was lucky enough. Tobirama wonders how much truth there is in her jest and whether or not he should put a bee in his elder brother’s ear.   
Or perhaps a fist in the gut.   
By the time Mito returns with another portion of food for him Tobirama has mostly gotten his face under control. There is definitely some color lingering in a few places but he’s willing to concede victory to her on that point. She loves to fluster him and she’s done so exceptionally well just now.   
Thinking it would be safer to not say anything, he accepts his meal with a simple nod and ducks his head down, eyes on the table. He can’t embarrass himself nor offer any offense if he just keeps his damn mouth shut. 

Tobirama is a man of few words, and yet there’s a distinct pleasure in making him speechless. Mito has the strong suspicion that before she came to Konoha, the Senju wasn’t used to _not_ having the last word in any discussion. Tsk, tsk, bad. Just his luck she waltzed in and started teaching him some much-needed humility - while arrogance is very attractive, the stubborn refusal of one’s faults so much _Isnt_.  
Gracefully, she allows him to keep his pride, going back to sitting at the table as he eats. She watches him, humming softly, liking the easy silence between them. For a while, the only sound in the kitchen is the soft noise of Tobirama’s chopsticks and the occasional bird singing on the windowsill.   
When the man is done, Mito sweeps in to pick his plate and wash it in the skin, easily brushing away his half-hearted offers to clean it himself.   
“I know you want to go to bed, but you’ll have to hold tight a little more. I want to see to your bruises and splint your arm.” She waves the soapy sponge at him in mock threat. “I know you’re going to heal the break it yourself as soon as your chakra is regenerated, but in the meantime you don’t want that clean break to become an unsettled break, do you?”

He’s very sure that having her hands on him would not be the best thing right now. At the same time the expression on her face says that she will brook no nonsense from him should he try to get away and he knows she’ll chase him if he does.   
Giving in would be much more graceful if he didn’t wince when standing from his chair. Where the hot bath had relaxed him, the hard wooden chair had tensed him again. His back feels as solid as a board and the ankle that he’d taken a rather hefty blow on feels as though it’s three times its regular size.   
“How do you want me?” he asks without thinking, turning away as quickly as he can when the words register. “Where. I meant where. Living room?”   
Merciful sage she’s in his head and he’s going to talk himself into an early grave at this point. He prays that a little rest with straighten his thoughts out. 

“Oh, I know I’d like you alright,” she jokes, following him to the living room and pulling out a chair from his desk - even if her following words are not the ones she’d like to say. “Sit straddling it, I’ll need to do your back,” she orders, pulling the pot of salve from her pocket and a few rolls of bandages from the other.  
Tobirama looks like he resigned to let Mito do what she wants with him, so he does as she says - smart man. Look, he’s learning.   
“Ankle first,” she says, sitting on the floor beside the chair, making herself comfortable. She unscrews the lid of the glass container, the bitter scent of healing herbs filling the air, and picks up a dollop of salve with two fingers. Delicately, she brings Tobirama’s left foot in her lap, spreading the thick green paste over the blue bruises. His skin is still warm from the bath, and she takes pleasure in rubbing the cream into the skin. “How does it feel?” She asks, her fingers straying down Tobirama’s foot, gently massaging the arch of it, then up his calf, feeling strong muscle under her hand. The yukata she gave him is delightfully short, allowing her a great sight of his lean legs up to mid thigh.

“Fine,” he says, the shortness of his answer softened by the breathiness of his voice. It feels more than fine, it feels almost as nice as the bath had. He can’t remember the last time he let someone give him any sort of personal treatment, let alone an almost-massage. He knows it’s not actually a massage, no matter that it feels pretty close to one. Her movements have a purpose; the amazing sensations that follow them are simply a side bonus.  
Mito’s fingers work _magic_ as they rub the healing salve in, moving slowly up his leg until they reach the highest of the bruises just below his knee. They’re annoying bruises that he’s glad no one was around to see him earn. After parrying a heavy blow with his ankle - his hands already engaged with another enemy - he had later been thrown into a tree by the blast of a Futon jutsu.   
(Which, he now remembers, he had paid attention to and meant to pass on to Mito. It was just her style. It will have to wait until he has more energy however.)  
By the time her fingers pull away from his calf Tobirama’s head has dropped onto his arms, folded across the chair back in front of him, and his eyes have long since closed. He hums in something close to a protest, cutting the sound off into a grunt instead. He’s starting to relax again: much of the pain is gone and he is clean, fed, and very tired. It’s easy to drift in and out, the world around him going foggy, until he almost believes he can feel her touch lingering on his skin when she pulls away.   
It’s only in his imagination, he’s sure. Mito could not possibly have any reason to want to touch him other than the medical help she had offered. There is nothing to be gained from him at the moment in the state that he is. 

In the comfortable silence, the young man slowly relaxes, his lids drooping and his head nodding off. Little by little, Mito can feel Tobirama’s tense muscles relax, until his calf feels like malleable putty. On one hand, it allows her to massage him deeper, stimulating the body to reabsorb the bruises and de-knotting the overworked muscle, on the other, exhaustion is making him lower his guard and she can keep touching him far past the point the salve would need.  
Mito wonders if Tobirama is touch-starved, to give in so easily, even if tired. For all his deficiencies in bed, Hashirama gives the best massages, which Mito shamelessly takes advantage of at least a few times a week: training is all nice and good, but it’s too easy to overwork one’s body, so all ninja are taught to seek out a partner to massage the soreness away to stay in tip-top form. However, Mito never saw Touka or Hashirama give Tobirama such a treatment: if the two people closest to him don’t, where is Tobirama getting the treatment he needs?  
Her money is on ‘no one’. Stubborn independent man.  
She spreads more salve on the swollen ankle and wraps it in gauze - tight enough to keep the foot mildly immobilized but not enough to cut off the blood flow.   
Mito looks up at Tobirama’s soft, dazed face. Should she offer to give him a thorough massage? She would really like to lay her hands on his body - and he probably really needs it, too.  
She decides against it. Let’s see to his wounds first, lest she scares him away and he pulls a hedgehog before she’s finished patching him up. “Ankle is good. I believe you’ll be able to accelerate the healing by tomorrow. Let’s see to your arm, now.”  
She gets up, dusting her kimono on an automatic reflex, and pulls a chair next to Tobirama’s, ready with the salve, two flat splints and bandages.  
She trails her hands up his upper left arm: it’s swollen, and there’s a very faint bruise where the break is, so Mito keeps her touch delicate. She’s not a medic, but she’s seen her fair share of broken bones: her guess is that the break is in the middle of the humerus.   
“Can you pull this down a bit?,” she asks, hooking a finger in the collar of Tobirama’s yukata and tugging lightly at it. She knows he’s wearing underwear because she brought it to him, so even self-conscious Tobirama should be alright with half-disrobing, right? She regularly sees his naked chest when they train, after all.

Her voice is soft enough that it takes a few seconds for the words to penetrate the clouds gathering around him. He agrees, then realizes that he agreed silently in his head. He’ll need to actually move to comply with her request and the very idea of moving is abhorrent.   
Tobirama grimaces as he shifts his weight, reaching over to tug the shoulder of his yukata down then draping his arm back over the chair and dropping his head back down. He might very well fall asleep right here and he’s not entirely against the idea. Sure the bed would be more comfortable but it’s so very far away.   
The feeling of fingertips brushing down the skin of his arm raises goosebumps and he nearly smiles at the sensation before his arm gives a painful twinge, making him grunt and drawing him out of the fog a little.   
“S’fine,” he slurs before she can get any ideas about encouraging him to have this healed. “Not that bad.”  
He’ll heal it himself tomorrow, as he prefers to do. When possible he doesn’t even like allowing Hashirama to heal him. It bothers him, the feeling of another’s chakra slithering under his skin, invading his very cells and controlling him even in such a very tiny way. No matter how much he tells himself it’s necessary and they are only healing him, he still cannot help but to feel violated by the process. 

“You stubborn mule,” she scolds him, but her voice is fond. Tobirama is stubborn and proud to a fault, but Mito learnt to live with it. It’s part of his charm, this aloofness he wears like a cloak - and how exciting to be able to lift it and see him so open, so vulnerable.   
The painful twitch Tobirama gave shows that he didn’t quite lower his yukata enough to allow her to work painlessly: his arm is still in the sleeve, and that can’t be in any way nice with such a sensible wound. Slowly, Mito pulls the shoulder of the yukata further down, then delicately extracts his hand from the sleeve, completely freeing his left arm.   
As her hands move back up to his arm, the back of Mito’s fingers brush Tobirama’s half-naked torso, her thumb trailing the curve of his pectoral up to the armpit. The pale pink nipple, so close to her, tempts her - makes her hesitate, makes her want to tweak it in her fingers to elicit a moan out of him.  
But she knows better, and goes back to tending his arm, spreading a healthy amount of salve on bicep and tricep, her fingers even lighter than they were on his ankle: a broken bone is not a smattering of bruises, she knows it very well. She lays the two splints on the inside and outside of his arm, then wraps everything up in a clean bandage. It only has to last until tomorrow, after all, she needn't immobilize him completely.  
Tobirama looks asleep, his head lying on his crossed arms on the back of the chair, but she knows he isn’t - not completely, at least. In his relaxation, his face is distended, the ever-present wrinkle under his eyes almost invisible, his forehead unfurrowed. Even the red slashes down his cheeks look softer, less violent. His long, white eyelashes tremble. Mito wants to pass her fingerpad over them just to feel the brush of them, wants to smooth out the curve of his white eyebrows so bad it’s hard to rein herself in.  
Instead, she cards a hand through his damp hair, delighting in how soft it is, pushing a stray lock behind his ear. “I’m going to do your back now. Alright?”

It occurs to him only very distantly to wonder why there is a hand in his hair. Perhaps there was something caught in his drying locks.  
He’s a little too far gone to care at the moment; the thought slips away like dust on the wind, gone before it has a chance to properly settle on his consciousness. “Right…”  
He isn’t even truly sure what she said but there was a questioning note to her words and he hopes that was the right answer. It feels very strange to give someone this much trust - other than Hashirama of course. Strange, but still nice. He feels utterly relaxed, perfectly safe, completely sure that the one moving behind his back has no ill intentions towards him.  
Even stranger is the fleeting desire to ask her to run her fingers through his hair again. No one has touched his hair in such a manner since his mother passed away when he was but a child. Hashirama ruffles it at every opportunity but that’s not the same. Nor is the way Touka likes to tug on the strands when she thinks he’s being particularly grumpy. Mito’s touch is gentle, almost a caress, and he’d forgotten how much he enjoyed have his hair petted in such a manner.   
The first touch of salve on his back is already warm and he doesn’t so much as twitch. Then the pressure of Mito’s fingers follow immediately behind that warmth and before he can stop himself Tobirama hears a very soft moan of pleasure escape him.  


Mito doesn’t move her chair, not wanting to lose sight of Tobirama’s face, so she simply leans forward to reach his back. A thrill runs down her belly as she disrobes the Senju further, pulling down down his yukata and completely baring his torso, until the fabric is all bunched up around his waist, having slipped down his right arm too.   
Presented with the delicious expanse of his strong back, Mito simply can’t resist letting her hands wander, spreading the healing cream further than the simple bruises.  
His skin is warm and smooth, his tense muscles relaxing under her touch. It’s a heady feeling, touching him, and despite the bitter-smelling salve she can still smell his scent, clean and masculine.  
Tobirama shudders, giving a soft moan of pleasure at the massage, and Mito can feel an elated grin spread over her face. She can almost imagine her hands touching other parts of him, eliciting more sounds like that one. There is a warm lick of want inside of her, coiling like a flame in her lower belly, and she feeds it freely, touching more and more skin - massaging, caressing, following the soft lines of muscle, fingerpads brushing the hollow of his hipbones.  
She shifts on her chair, leaning forward to lay a glancing kiss on Tobirama’s shoulder. She likes the feeling of his skin under her lips. “When you hurt, we hurt too. We all care about you - _I_ care about you.”

Still buried in the crook of one arm, his eyes blink open in light surprise. He’s never given much thought to how other people react to his injuries. For his part, he gets angry. It isn’t very often that he sees one of his precious people laid up with wounds, bleeding or broken, but when he does his first reaction is to rage. His first thought is to hunt, kill, delete the insignificant worm who did this to someone he cares about.   
He’s been so insistently self-sufficient for so long that he never thought about whether Touka’s non-reactions are more for his comfort than her own lack of feeling. There’s no stopping his brother’s hovering and teary eyes but Tobirama never thought much of that either. Hashirama always cries. At everything.  
“Does it bother you so much?” he asks, dredging up the will for speech from some deeply hidden pocket of energy.   
The idea that he’d made Mito - stately Mito who never seems bothered by much at all - worry about him is as foreign as it is layered with guilt. Odd. He’s never felt guilty about getting injured before. It’s his body, he can break it if he wants to. Right?

“Of course it does,” she answers. Her hands are still on Tobirama’s back, and she herself is closer to him than she’s ever been outside of training, so kisses him again, this time on the shoulder blade. “I lost too many people to our profession not to. I don’t let worry distract me from my duties, but a part of me is always with the people I love. Short missions are the easiest to bear, but as time passes you start to wonder - are they alright? Are they in hiding, that they cannot send messages? Are they wounded? Are they dead, somewhere where we’ll never find their body? Am I waiting for naught?”  
She lays another kiss on him, tasting clean skin on her lips. “It’s hard to accept you can’t do anything, that you’re helpless. I learnt to accept that all I can do is living to the fullest every day we have together. Be happy. Memories last long after the cold ground takes you.”   
She cards one hand through his hair again, kissing the dip of his spine once again and leaning her cheek against his back. “I know grief very well, Tobirama.”

The air in his home is not particularly cold so Tobirama isn’t sure why the warmth of Mito’s form against his back stands out so starkly on his senses. It’s only her cheek and the lingering touch of her palm. She isn’t doing anything untoward. He attempts to kick his brain into gear to figure out what it is that’s bothering him when she speaks of knowing grief and his thought process is derailed.   
“We all do,” he responds quietly, pressing back against her ever so slightly. It’s the best he can do from this position.   
“What griefs belong to you?”  
He knows better than most Mito’s true strength and the way she wields it in battle. She is more than a woman, more than a prize won from some distant clan. She is a kunoichi with all the experiences that go with that title. Which, of course, means that she has just as many hurts hiding inside her steely heart as does every other trained shinobi in any of the five great nations.   
She’s never spoken of them, however. He feels a little honored that she would now, to him. 

She’s glad to see Tobirama isn’t being his usual hermit crab self, allowing her to touch him. It brings relief to be able to hold someone, when thinking of Dansei.  
She humms, moving her chair so to be right behind Tobirama. Her hands caress his sides, running up his ribs and then down his hips, her fingers dipping into the soft flesh there.   
“I was betrothed, once. His name was Arashi Dansei. I loved him.” A kiss on Tobirama’s shoulder blade.  
“I met him on a joint mission. He had hair like the ocean and a smile like the setting sun. His teammates mocked me because I was a girl - he didn’t. He let me at them, and laughed when I dumped them into a whirlpool. He said I was the most beautiful storm he’d ever seen.” A kiss to his nape.  
“He liked to steal food from my plate, so I learnt to sprinkle lemon juice on everything I ate - he hated lemons, you know. He made the most disgusted faces when he bit onto something he stole from me. He never stopped stealing, though. He liked to make me laugh. It was our little ritual.” She kisses him on a frazzled, faded scar.  
She’s never told anyone of Dansei, here in Konoha. She shared with anyone ready to listen everything about her old life on the seaside - what missions are like there, the cruel weather, the ocean, sailing, food. But never this.

He should really ask her to stop leaving little kisses everywhere; it’s wreaking havoc on his too-tired-to-function mind. Her words stay his own. He sits as still as a statue in his chair, barely daring to even breathe as though to do so will discourage her from continuing.   
He’d had no idea she had ever been so involved with another person before her husband. Yes, he was aware she’s had previous relationships but then so had he and he’d never found himself anything close to marriage before.   
Intellectually he knows that her story cannot have any sort of happy ending. If it did she would not be here but in Uzushio. If it did he would never have met her. That she is here in Fire Country and married to the head of another clan tells him that there is no way for her to have come out of this story happily. And yet, he finds he wishes for it. Despite the odds he wishes she could tell him that she simply fell out of love along the way and that they parted good friends.  
He’d asked her what griefs belonged to her. He wishes he hadn’t. Not if it brings up the memories of a grief so heavy.

She discovers she doesn’t need to look at Tobirama’s face to know what he’s feeling: his body is exceptionally communicative, his back tensing (surprise?), then relaxing (acceptance?) - then his arms shift, shoulders bunching up (worry? Anticipation?).  
It’s obvious Tobirama’s never had a long-term partner, or he would have learnt long ago to control those cues. As it is, his body feels incredibly responsive, making Mito sigh in soft desire.   
“As far as it concerned me, we were going to marry, and my family could go suck a lemon for all I cared. Dansei didn’t want me to lose my rank and he begged his Clan Head to intercede for him with my father. My father knew I was going to marry Dansei no matter what, so he gave up on his plans of a political marriage and gave his approval.” She kisses Tobirama’s neck.  
“Dansei wanted his monk brother to wed us. While we waited for him to arrive, Dansei went on a courier mission to Water country. It should have taken him ten days.” Her mouth is dry. She swallows and licks her lips before kissing Tobirama’s nape, but she still can taste grief on the back of tongue.  
“On the fifteenth day, I left with my brother and Dansei’s best friend to retrace his steps. We found no trace of him. He’d disappeared after the town of Noribu.”  
“We spent a month crossing Water country, looking for clues, asking every Clan, every rogue ninja - we promised anyone’s weight in pearls for information. We found nothing.”  
She’s not sure why she brought this up. It may be to play on Tobirama’s sympathy, to gain permission to touch him. It may be that she’s been thinking about love and comparing the relationship she has with Hashirama with the one she had with Dansei makes her grit her teeth in frustration and nostalgy. It may be that she loves Tobirama dearly and wants him to look at her as her own person, not as his brother’s appendage - show him she was Uzumaki Mito long before she was the Hokage’s wife.   
“I waited for him for months. Eventually I gave up waiting and went on with my life - and believe me, did that feel as a betrayal.” Her kiss on his spine lingers, trailing down the dip of it. Tobirama is warm and solid under her hands and she loves him for it.  
“So, yes, I worry for you, because I every time I say goodbye, I wonder if it’s the last time I see you. Sometimes memories are the only thing you’re left with, and I only want the best of you.”

The muscles in his back protest when he sits up, so nicely relaxed under her ministrations and not happy to be moving again so soon. He ignores them. His splinted arm hangs uselessly at his side and so he turns in the opposite direction, leaning backwards until he can reach out with his other arm and pull Mito to him.   
He isn’t usually comfortable touching people and it perhaps might not be the best idea to do so now when his body is already confused by the strange little affections she’s been laying on his skin while she speaks, but he cares more for her comfort at the moment than his own.  
Mito comes willingly into his half-hug, made slightly awkward by his inexperience with such gestures, and he sighs a little when she presses into him. “I am sorry.”  
There isn’t really anything else he can say. The world is cruel and they both know that. He could tell her everything was going to be okay but she seems happy in her life as it is now and so those empty words are useless as well. There isn’t much he could tell her that she doesn’t already know.   
“I’m glad you were happy, for a time,” he settles for. “And I’m glad to see you happy here, as well. Forgive me for making you worry.”

Mito’s arms encircle Tobirama’s waist, drawing him close, mindful of his arm. The man’s arm around her shoulders is a warm comforting weight, and she moulds against him with a sigh of- of pleasure, of relief, perhaps. She hides her face in the crook of his neck, her breasts pressed against his naked chest.   
“Thank you,” Mito whispers, understanding the emotions behind his awkward words. She knows Tobirama has a heart, she has eyes sharp enough to usually be able to spot the tiny clues he gives about his feelings, but this is different - this is him lowering all his barriers, a mirror of what she did with him, letting Mito in.  
That close to him, she can smell his warm scent to the fullest, and she commits it to memory, just like she wants to forever remember what his skin feels like under her hands  
“I forgive you, Tobirama. We’re ninja, we have a duty we can’t abandon. I shall keep on worrying when you’re away, so have to sure to come home in one piece, alright?” She kisses his neck under the ear, gently, oh so gently. “Do you worry for me when you’re the one saying goodbye?”

Although he’s sure that she only means to grace him with a little familial affection, the kisses have a different connotation in his mind - especially now that they are facing one another with her body pressed almost intimately up against his own. His throat bobs as he leans away from the touch reflexively. Then he prays that she won’t be offended because he’s already injured and he really wouldn’t like to be injured _more._   
“Of course I do. Abstractly, I suppose. I have a great deal of confidence in your skills and I tend to focus more on the odds. It’s very unlikely that you will find an opponent who can overpower you.”   
Ah, deflection, ever his saving grace.  
He tilts his head to grin down at her and say, “Unless it’s me. I think I could take you.”

“Oh?” She pulls back enough to look at him in the eye. She can see a flicker of amusement in his red eyes, and she’s more than glad to allow him an escape route from talking emotions if it throws him right where she wants him: slipping ever closer to admitting the attraction he feels for her.   
“So you think you’re man enough to take me?” She smiles, eyebrows rising into a silent challenge. _Can you_ “I’d like to see you try.” This is the game she likes: walking on the edge of the blade, carefully testing every step, always pushing on boundaries - but carefully, not to shake her web too much and let the fly realize it’s already trapped.

His grins spreads in such a manner as to make it obvious that he’s holding in a laugh.  
“Well I’m quite the man.” Bragging isn’t exactly attractive but if it’s enough to keep the smile on her face he doesn’t mind poking fun at his own ego. “Did you need a demonstration? Which feats of manliness shall I lower myself to for your amusement?”  
The way she has pulled them apart and yet still kept them pressed together is both comforting and distracting. He could almost forget that his arm is still wrapped around her shoulders - if she were another woman he might drop his arm down to encircle her waist. He almost does, so comfortable is he. His arm twitches and slides down around her shoulder blades a few inches before he catches it. Then he makes an exaggerated face of deep thought to distract both himself and her from the slip.   
“I could behead your enemies and lay their bodies at your feet to prove my strength. Would that appease her bloodthirsty highness?”

Tobirama’s smile is well worth any effort, for sure. Mito likes it when he smiles freely like this - it makes him look his actual age, for once, young and content.  
“It would,” she purrs, tilting her head in a proud, haughty manner. “Though there are many other ways you could prove your valour.”  
Not having missed how his arm slipped down her back before he froze, she cuddles closer to him, drinking in the heat of his naked body, her hands wandering over expanses of muscle. From her explorations, Mito’s seen that most men are quite sensitive on the small of their back - no ill in discovering if Tobirama is, too, right?

“Hm, perhaps. That’s what I’m good at, however.”   
He’s about to follow up with some quip or anything, something else silly that will make her laugh, when he cuts himself off with a yawn. His head turns away so he isn’t gaping his maw right in her face, then turns back afterwards feeling slightly sheepish.   
“My apologies. I’ll need to sleep soon.”  
Now that the serious conversation has passed he finds himself relaxing once more to the point where he could almost fall asleep right where he is again. It might be inadvisable seeing as he’s twisted sort of sideways in order to hold her but he thinks if he fell over backwards she would catch him at least. Probably. She might let him fall just for the laughs.

She sweeps a hand through his hair - not ruffling it because she knows he hates it, just petting it. “Let’s go to bed, then,” she urges him with a look that’s just shy of leering, standing up and gently drawing Tobirama up with her, mindful of his leg and arm.  
Once upright, she lets him go, stepping away - and it’s worth it just to see Tobirama making an aborted motion to reach her, as if wanting to pull her back against him. Good, very good.  
Smiling widely, she rewards his reaction by walking side by side with to his room, her hand brushing his.

If he had thought that a few days away on a mission would get his head set straight and stop him from constantly hearing innuendo where there was none then he was evidently wrong. Obviously she only meant that as a common turn of phrase and yet his brain insists on interpreting it to mean that she intends to crawl into bed with him.   
His body seems very on board with this as his arm automatically reaches out for her when she pulls away and he only just manages to catch himself. What is wrong with him? For someone who professes to dislike physical contact he sure seems to be seeking it out today. He wonders, if this were Touka would he be behaving the same? Would he have conforted his cousin the way he did Mito? Would he have opened his heart and his arms for his family as he did for his friend?  
The telling silence his subconscious gives him is a worrisome answer. His fingers twitch when Mito’s own brush against them and he twists his mouth a little. He should pull away. He should ask her to leave and insist that he is capable of putting himself to bed. Not doing so feels both very right and very wrong.   
“I’m not so tired that I don’t recall where my own bedroom is,” he says, a weak attempt at protesting. It falls flat when he does nothing else to convince her to turn back as they both amble slowly down the hall. 

She tuts at him, reproachful. “You’re tired enough to fall asleep on the floor. I just want to make sure you actually get to your bed.” She opens the door to his room for him, then follow him in, closing the door behind her. As Tobirama heads to his bed, Mito reaches for the heavy curtains on the windows, pulling them closed, throwing the room into half-darkness. The Senju looks tired enough he could fall asleep in the middle of the market place, but this will surely make his sleep more pleasant.  
Task done, she joins Tobirama on the bed, sitting primly on the edge of it, watching the man wrestle the covers - he didn’t even bother to pull on his yukata properly, and the sight of his naked chest barely covered by the bed sheets makes for a very interesting trail of thought. She longs to lift the blanket and slip under with him, press herself against his warm body, her chest to his back, her breasts safely nested in the curve of his spine. She wants to divest him of what little clothing he still has, spread him open on the bed and eat him. She wants to roll them over until Tobirama is straddling her, pinning her to the mattress with his reassuring weight.  
Desire singing in her veins, she leans over him, carding a hand through his hair - he seemed to like that - smiling hungrily. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

The moment his head touches the pillow he’s already mostly lost. It takes all of his concentration to attempt to get his blankets in order, having fallen half on top of them when his body collapsed over the mattress.   
He ends up curled on his side facing towards the door, only barely aware that Mito has sat down on the bed right next to him. Her weight barely disturbs him as he spirals down, down, down into blissful darkness. She speaks and he cannot discern the words, only the soft lilt of her voice and the soothing tone she uses. There is something in his hair, petting softly, and he doesn’t even notice the smile that quirks his mouth up on one side.  
Already half in a dream, his hand reaches out when the one in his hair retracts, chasing after the feelings of comfort and affection he never allows himself in waking.  
Then the world falls away and he is, at last, asleep. 

Mito holds the hand that reached out for her, bringing it to her lips and kissing Tobirama’s long, lean fingers. Like before, Tobirama’s features are distended, relaxed, but now that he’s really asleep there’s an added softness to him, a vulnerability that Mito wants to protect. The Senju is a great warrior, he can take care of himself, and yet she wants to sweep in and hide him from the world.  
She pets his hair, threading her fingers in the white silk of it, pulling it out of his eyes - he needs a haircut. Perhaps he will agree to let her cut it.  
She lifts the covers to check on his left arm, gently taking hold of his wrist and guiding the arm in a more comfortable position, cradled against his chest. Less chance he turns and rolls on it, waking in pain.  
Mito leans over him, one hand on either side of his face, looking down at Tobirama with an intrigued smile. “You’ll be the end of me, Senju Tobirama,” she utters. Snorting at herself, she cups his cheek and caresses his eyelashes with a thumb, feeling them shiver under her touch, marvelling at their length, like thin ice crystals. His lips are warm and chapped underneath hers, his breath slow and steady. It’s only a chaste kiss, despite how long she lingers, but it’s like gasoline on a fire. “I’ll have you, darling,” she promises with a last peck before getting up and leaving the room, her feet making no sound on the wooden floor.


	4. First Taste

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mito strikes. Tobirama recoils.

Mito: Holly  
Tobirama: Rae  
Hashirama: Rae

“The scroll I was reading said it should feel as though I were ‘knitting the cells back together’ and if that isn’t the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard I’ll drink the contents of that beaker over there. Honestly. How many medical personnel you know have time for knitting? They’re the busiest people I know.” Tobirama scoffs as he refills his glass. “ _Knitting_. Perhaps it would have been better had it said ‘it should feel as though you’re sewing your wound closed with the thread you accidentally found in the emergency medical kit’.”  
Not that he’s ever had to do that of course. Certainly not twice in the same week when he was young and got separated from his patrol squadron.  
Mito hides her laughter at his expense behind one delicate hand and Tobirama magnanimously ignores her in favor of taking a sip of the liquid he’d poured for himself. Either his friend knew he was having a terrible day and specifically brought him his favorite alcohol to help him relax or she simply had good luck and good timing. Either way, he was very glad to see her enter his lab.  
Being stuck in a meeting with his elder brother and Uchiha Madara for three hours would give anyone a headache. Add in the fact that they seemed to have had some sort of spat and were both pouting about it and Tobirama had been ready for blood before they were halfway done.  
He takes another sip, snorts, and shakes his head to clear the memories away.  
“Well I hope that scroll has _some_ sort of merit. Let’s see your hand then.”  
When she suggested that he do something to calm himself she probably meant for him to sit down and relax while they drank her gift together. Likely she didn’t meant to be drawn into his renewed interest with iryojutsu but improving his skills is about all Tobirama ever seems to do with his time - that and paperwork.  
The injuries he acquired during his last mission made it clear that he could do with some improvement in that area. They had not healed anywhere near as quickly as he would have liked. Mito, the good friend that she was, offered to help him attempt to heal minor cuts by offering herself as a test subject.  
Stupidly, he’s found he can’t bring himself to open her flesh so callously. It feels different outside of a friendly spar and so the letting of her own blood falls to the woman seated across from him.

Tobirama’s lab is a pleasant space, located on the outskirt of the village - Hashirama doesn’t like having his brother away from him, but told her it was better for everyone. Since Mito witnessed one mild explosion with her eyes and knows three other happened since she arrived to Konoha, she can see the wisdom in the Hokage’s choice: there’s less chance Tobirama burns the Village down by mistake, isolated as he is.   
The two sit on comfortable cushions on the floor, the low table in front of them overrun with scrolls and papers covered in Tobirama’s chicken scrawl. Mito, in particular, is sitting with her back leaning against the wall, her naked feet playing with the thick rug covering the area closest to the window - Tobirama said it’s his relaxation zone, for reading only. (The Senju admitted it took the shameful death of the two previous rugs to bring that rule forth. Mito laughed at him.)   
The Uzumaki downs her glass and places it on the table, next to the half-empty bottle. Being so close to her brothers means that Mito had a very close relationship with alcohol when she was young, and the high tolerance for it never left her. She supposes that if her liver ever fails her, at least she’ll have the pleasure of knowing that her two brothers’ likely died out before hers.   
“Alright, let’s do it,” she says, pulling a kunai out from a hidden pocket in her sleeve. Tobirama looks eagerly on, leaning forward, and Mito favours him with her prettiest grin and a wink, before slashing the back of her left wrist - the pain is but a flash of nuisance, and she weathers it easily.   
Blood wells in the shallow cut, red droplets gathering at the edges and starting to run down her hand. “There.” One-handed, Mito puts the kunai away, licking the cut clean of the blood - she doesn’t quite want to stain Tobirama’s clothes.   
“Here you go, do your best,” she says, offering her hand to her friend, scooting closer to him, licking her lips clean.

He takes the proffered hand in one of his own, cupping it in a manner he might not have were he not slightly tipsy and distracted. The other he holds over her wrist and gathers his chakra until it is limned in a dull green glow.  
As much as his finds the feeling of someone else’s healing distasteful there is something cathartic about giving the same treatment to another. He hates to admit that the scroll was in any way correct but there really is a sensation that vaguely resembles many, many threads being woven back together. He can feel the cells in her wrist that have been damaged and he concentrates on them, convincing them to accelerate the healing process. He finds it strangely calming.  
The calm is ruined and the line that seems to perpetually reside between his brows deepens when he finds the sensation slipping away from him, leaving the cut only half healed. He has excellent chakra control so it cannot be that he is doing it improperly. There must be some other element he is unaware of, something else he has yet to learn.  
Not knowing, not succeeding, frustrates him to no end. He lifts Mito’s wrist with a deep frown, examining it from many angles as though the outside will tell him what went wrong. He did everything the scroll said to, so why didn’t it work?  
“Hmph.” A short grunt is all he can make himself say to express his annoyance, now lowering their hands down on to his leg while his thoughts turn inward, going over and over the information he had memorized. Did he miss something? Misinterpreted some passage?

Being healed is never a pleasant feeling - a good reminder that one shouldn’t get hurt in the first place. It feels like ants crawling on her skin, prickling her, and it feels hot and cold at the same time. Turning up her nose in distaste, she peers at her hand, still cradled in Tobirama’s, looking at the cut: while it stopped bleeding, having clotted over, it’s nowhere near fully healed. It looks like it’s a few hours old - it’ll likely close in a day or so.   
Thank goodness Mito, knowing there was a chance Tobirama wouldn’t heal it all, chose a place where it wouldn’t hinder her, so it’s not a heavy sacrifice.   
The Senju is sulking, mulling over his failed experiment, mumbling under his breath, worrying at his lip.   
Mito huffs, amused - he can never turn his pretty brain off, can he?   
She knows the mumbling part is because of the alcohol: he’s usually silent when he thinks. There is also a light blush spreading over his cheeks that she writes down as the drink’s fault.   
Again, if there’s something her brothers taught her, it’s that alcohol is the great reliever of pains, so she pours some in Tobirama’s glass and holds it up at his eye level. “There, honey. Drink up. I think you did fine on helping my body stop the bleeding, but you slipped once the clot was complete. Next step would be working on the skin’s cells rather than the blood’s ones, favouring the generation of scar tissue.”

“And that’s the problem, isn’t it?” he mumbles out loud to himself, unaware he can be heard. “I didn’t want to leave her with a scar.” He downs the cup absently, all at once, not seeing her refill it again as he looks down at the hand still resting in his own. “Such pretty skin should not have such cheap scars.”  
His lower lip peeks out just the tiniest bit as he thinks about it. He really shouldn’t be calling her skin pretty, even in his own head. Or any part of her for that matter. Yes, it is a fact that Mito is a beautiful woman. But it is also a fact that she is a _married_ beautiful woman and lately he finds it much too often necessary to remind himself of that fact.   
It’s too easy to let his guard down around her. They have alway been close, or as close as he ever lets anyone get to him, but over the last couple of weeks they’ve been spending much more time together. He’s been learning so much more of the depths she keeps hidden within herself and the more he sees the more he craves. It’s a very dangerous line he’s found himself walking, one he is not willing to slip onto the wrong side of.  
Finally he realizes that he’s been ignoring his friend and lifts himself out of his temporary stupor.  
“I apologize. I’ll do better next time.”  
For her, he finds he always wants to be better.

His comments please her. Of course she’s aware he’s attracted to her, but it’s nice to have confirmation every now and then, since the man holds his cards so close.   
Also, it makes her chuckle silently how he still hasn’t noticed the glass she’s holding right in front of him.    
“Apology accepted,” she easily says, swaying the drink left and right, trying to attract his attention. “Drink up. It’ll bring you inspiration.”

Didn’t he just drink? Tobirama looks around for his cup, absolutely certain he was just holding it. When he discovers it missing he thinks he must have been lost in his head longer than he’s thought.  
“Ah, of course.’  
He takes the cup and downs it like the last. He should really sip it. This stuff was made for sipping, not guzzling as a drunkard does. And worse is that he has no excuse for why he is downing it like a fish; perhaps he just feels like getting a bit drunk today. He’s allowed his days to let loose, isn’t he?  
“I don’t usually find inspiration in alcohol, though I’m sure there’s a first time for everything. I prefer to take inspiration from those around me. People. Circumstances. A particular need for something.”  
His sentences are already breaking down. It appears the drink is affecting him at a much faster rate than he anticipated it would. Likely it has something to do with him not eating since breakfast. Or quite possibly how little he generally drinks.  
He tries to remember the last time he imbibed enough alcohol to actually impair him, wanting to compare it with how quickly he is losing sensation in his extremities at the moment. His head feels pleasantly light and there is a buzzing just at the base of his skull that sort of tickles in a nice way. He bites one of his incisors into his bottom lip, grinning a little foolishly when he doesn’t feel a thing.  
“You know, I don’t remember the last time I drank more than a glass or two of shochu.”

Mito really laughs at that, feeling pleasantly warm and heavy, even if her head feels light. “You’ve been missing out, then!” She pulls her hand back from his lax hold, shifting to sit closer to him, their shoulders and thighs touching. Tobirama feels even warmer than her - she wants to sprawl on his lap like a cat, lapping that warmth up.   
She raises her cup in a toast, slipping one arm around Tobirama’s shoulders like she would with any of her siblings, the bells of her hairpins chiming. “To all missed chances! May we be able to get our fill!”

The cup is up and down and the mouthful swallowed before he thinks to question her choice of words.  
“Hm. And what are you looking to get your fill of, my dear Mito?”  
His voice comes out much more husky than he means it to but he can’t remember for the life of him why that should matter. It was only a simple question. The jingling of her hairpins is strangely hypnotic, chiming in perfect time with the swaying equilibrium inside his head and leaving him feeling as though he were reeling in slow circles.

Tobirama’s voice is deep and soft. She likes the way it sounds - she wonders if he would sound the same in bed, sliding inside of her. As if feeling her thoughts, he looks down at her, his red eyes half-lidded and dark. His gaze runs over her and Mito can see the way it lingers on the wide neckline of her kimono.   
He looks like a man hungry for flesh, sizing her up. Mito shifts, silently offering her body up for scrutiny, giving him a coy look of her own. “You,” she simply answers, her voice purring and low, drawing ever so close.

He pulls his eyes back up to blink at her, a little startled. And a lot confused.  
“Me?” His head tilts to the side as if he can see her words at a different angle there and decipher them better. “You wish to have your fill of me? Mito, I’m right here.”  
He’d only just been thinking about how much time they’ve been spending together. Surely she can’t mean that she wishes they spent _more_ time together? They’ll be living in each other’s pockets if they do.  
(There is an innuendo in her words that he refuses to even consider for the ridiculous notion that it is.)  
He tries to shake the alcohol away, thinking maybe he’ll be able to make better sense of her words if he can only sober up a bit. The motion gives him the sense that the floor is tilting and he stops again immediately, leaning into his companion to stave off the impending fall which isn’t really coming.

She pulls back to look up at him, grinning. “You’re right here, but you’re not where I want you.” She feels hot, excited, restless. She wants this man, handsome, clever Tobirama, and this adorable show of awkwardness is doing nothing to deter her. With a twist, she shifts so to straddle Tobirama’s lap, one knee on either side of him.   
“This is better.” Like that, she’s just a bit taller than him, and this time it’s him looking up at him, eyes widening, lips parted in surprise. She likes the heady feeling of his warm body underneath her. She wants to push him down and ride him, wants to feel him hard against her.

Her weight tips him a little backwards and on instinct he reaches one arm around her to balance them both.  
“That’s not quite what I pictured,” he breathes, too surprised at first and too muddled by drink to react properly.  
Only after a few seconds does he realize that this is _his own brother’s wife_ and she is straddled across his lap. Anyone stumbling across them right now will certainly get the wrong impression. His throat bobs as Tobirama prays that he, too, has somehow gotten the wrong impression.  
(How exactly does one misinterpret this? He has no idea but he hopes there is some way.)  
His arm unwraps from her as though burned and he leans back on it, tilting his upper body away from her as best he can. Unfortunately his words seem caught behind his teeth, jumbling together and mixing several different thoughts into a single string, and what he says is perhaps not as strong of a deterrent as it should be.  
“I think you’ve got the wrong brother, Mito.”

That’s perhaps the very last thing she expected and she laughs, throwing her head back, wild and elated, her hands finding pursue on his shoulders. “Oh, believe me, I know perfectly well which brother I’ve got.”   
He pulled back but he didn’t push her away, and it makes her feel bold and free, so she smiles down at him, caressing his neck. “I’ve got the good one.”   
Tobirama opens his mouth, almost surely to protest - but Mito doesn’t want to hear it. She knows what she wants, and she wants it now, so she leans forward, her hands cupping his jaw, and kisses him. Her lips caress his own parted ones, the tip of her tongue teasing him, just enough to taste him.

For a moment - a single moment - he nearly gives in. He sits still without breath, without heartbeat, as the most incredible woman he’s ever met kisses him and he very nearly gives her what she is so obviously asking for.  
The moment is broken by the image of his brother, that disappointed look on his face as he shakes his head in Tobirama’s thoughts.  
 _Brother’swifebrother’swifeBROTHER’SWIFE!_  
In the next instant his hands are between them and he is shoving Mito backwards off of his lap. Whether she bumps the table or the wall or whatnot he has no idea because he is scrambling backwards several feet, putting as much distance as he can between them before his back runs up against the leg of one of the tables he does his experiments on.  
“What are you doing!?” He demands. “Mito you can’t - you _kissed_ me! That is so very beyond appropriate I can’t - you - no!”  
He curses the bottle of drink on the table for twisting his tongue and tangling the words. They still won’t come out right, stopping him from properly expressing how very much against this he was. How very far past his comfort zone they have strayed. What they just did was wrong, oh so very wrong.  
(And it tasted so _right_ and he _hates_ himself for it.)

Mito felt his body tense up and knew she was about to be pushed off, but she didn’t oppose the motion, simply cushioning her landing with her hands. She sits up, perfectly at ease with herself, basking in Tobirama’s horrified attention. It had been a long shot to hope he would give in so soon, but the kiss was worth it. The game isn’t up by any meaning of the term.   
Instead, she grins at the man, supporting her chin with her hand, as if Tobirama were a particularly interesting specimen. “I would do so much more than kissing you if you allowed me”, she purrs, licking her lips, the taste of her kiss lingering on her tongue.   
“I  _ know _ you’re attracted to me, Tobirama. You  _ liked _ that kiss. This could go very well for both of us,” she offers, her voice honeyed, her fingers straying down her neckline.

Her words finally penetrate the fog in his mind and he finds himself rather suddenly.  
What he finds is anger. Righteous indignation.  
“I will not deny that you are a physically attractive woman but I will deny any relevance that fact has in conjunction with me. You are married to my brother. _My brother._ I was there the day you stood at the end of that aisle and promised to cherish him and be _loyal_ to him for the rest of your days.”  
He is on his feet with no memory of having gotten there, fists clenching at his sides and eyes narrowing. His blood feels hot with too many different things and there is a red film in the corners of his vision.  
“I will not have you make a mockery of him. You are my friend. _He_ is my family. I owe you nothing before him.”  
He removes his eyes from her person, seeking a bit of calm in the storm that is whipping through him at high speeds. He has always been quick to anger when it comes to the defense of his precious people; he’d never thought he would need to defend one of them from another.  
In moving his eyes aside they fall upon the nearly empty bottle on the table and he takes a slow, deep breath. It hisses back out between his teeth, clenched tightly and grinding together in his anger.  
“I am willing to allow that alcohol may be...poisoning your ability to reason. Go home Mito. Go home to your _husband._ I don’t want to speak of this again.”

She draws herself to her feet as he does, her drinks not influencing her grace. “You’re a bad liar when drunk, Tobirama. You needn’t deny your attraction - I can  _ feel _ it.” There’s a hidden laughter in her mocking words, and he recoils as if stricken, though he tries to hide it.    
“And it’s no betrayal if he betrayed me first.” She keeps her distance, knowing better than to corner a man the calibre of Tobirama when he’s upset. She needn’t, not when his eyes keep on coming back to her like a magnet, despite his obvious efforts not to.   
“I love Hashirama dearly, don’t you worry about it, I’m not going to turn on him,” she drawls as if what she’s saying it obvious to the point of being boring. “But for all the good work I did for him, I think I deserve some good sex out of it, don’t you think? I didn’t sign up for chastity.”   
She turns on her heel and saunters to the door, cocking her hips. Tobirama’s glare is like a hot weight on her back, and she glories in it. On the threshold, she looks back at him over her shoulder, licking her lips. “Deny it if you will, but you’ll think of me. In your dreams, I’ll be there. When you touch yourself, I’ll be there. You’re mine.”   
With a laugh she waves at him, leaving him alone in his labs. “Thanks for the kiss, dear. It was a pleasure.”

The door closes behind her and it is a long minute before Tobirama can force himself to move. When he does it is with precisely controlled movements, striding over to snatch the bottle they were drinking from in a too-tight grip. He empties the contents down the drain of the sink in one corner, wishing he could pour his memories down with it.  
He can barely decide which ridiculous statement to react to first in her farce of a parting shot.  
“Betrayed you?” he mutters out loud to himself. “My brother is not _capable_ of betrayal. It is not in him. He has done nothing and you mock him as well as myself by implying it!” The bottle in his hand shatters under the increasing pressure of his fingers, the shards biting deeply into his palm. He doesn’t notice.  
“She professes to love him and promises loyalty then in the same sentence declares her desire to throw it all away for _sex!_ That is not love! That is _use!_ She speaks of all the things she has given him - and what of all the things he has done for HER!”  
The shards lingering in his grip are flung against the wall, splattering a handful of blood across the room. He cannot see it for the spots of red crowding in on his vision. He can’t remember the last time he was so angry nor felt so deceived. He thought Mito to be the best of them, above certain things that others lowered themselves to. Did he misjudge her?  
Her final words play in his mind and his bleeding fist slams down on the nearest surface. The objects that jump and rattle go unnoticed, even as a few topple on their sides and one of them spills its contents.  
“It was your pleasure? Your _pleasure?_ Well it was not mine. It was not _right._ ”  
Both hands grip his hair and pull, pull, tear, rip at the strands as he lets out a broken, damaged noise.  
Tobirama kissed his brother’s wife. He was complicit in the worst kind of immoral actions. Even if not willingly he was still a part of it. He feels like the worst kind of trash and he knows that he will not be able to face his brother in the morning. Touka or one of the children will need to send in his apologies for missing the meeting they have scheduled because he absolutely cannot go.  
His heart hurts and his head aches and he still feels dizzy from the drink, yet still his mind floods with the memory of Mito’s smile. Not the smile she had gave him over her shoulder as she left, that hunter’s grin, all teeth and bite. No, he pictures the warm smile she gave him only hours before when she settled herself on the floor of his lab and encouraged him to take a break. That was the smile of a friend, of someone who cared. It is the same smile she gives Hashirama every time she finds something he’s misplaced, handing it over with obvious affection shining in her eyes.  
She does care for the man she married. Tobirama knows that. But does that excuse her actions?  
At long last he finally notices the blood he casted about the room, the small pool that is gathering in the palm of his wounded hand, dripping through his hair and past his ear. He sighs as he reaches for a pair of tweezers to remove the remaining shards of porcelain stuck in his skin.  
It must have been the alcohol. He isn’t sure how much she drank but he knows how strange he himself was feeling and if she was feeling the same odd out-of-self sensations than perhaps that is what encouraged her actions. She never crossed the line before. Perhaps she will regret her actions on the morrow, though he won’t hold his breath for an apology.  
Queen Mito, he thinks with a sneer, does not apologize for anything.  
He’ll keep his peace about this for now. If there is no true betrayal here then he has an excuse not to bring this before Hashirama. It burns, the thought of keeping such a disgusting secret, but he supposes he can bear the weight of this shame if it will save his most important person’s marriage. He cannot imagine how crushed Hashirama would be to know how his beloved wife acted.  
If it is _not_ a one time thing, however…  
If it happens again his brother will know. If it happens again Tobirama will accept whatever recompense comes his way because his brother deserves better than that. His brother deserves the world. He deserves to know if his wife is a liar and a cheater.  
(Tobirama hopes desperately that she is not. He hopes desperately not to lose her.)  
(She is not his to lose and he is scum for wanting the things that belong to another.)

____________________________________________

The walk back home is a pleasant one. Despite the cold breeze, Mito feels invigorated - she feels so full of energy she might actually be leaking chakra, but she doesn’t care.   
Chuckling, she licks her lips. She can still feel the ghost of Tobirama’s lips pressed against her; she fancies she can still taste him.   
She didn’t plan for that to happen when she joined Tobirama with a bottle of his shochu. A well-wishing ninja from the Maito Clan gave it to her, hoping to get the Hokage’s favour, and it was natural for Mito to seek out her friend to share it. When she saw the bad mood he was in, she was glad she chose to keep him company.  
It just happened. It felt like the perfect chance, and Mito is nothing if not good at jumping on opportunities.  
And for a moment, Tobirama gave in. He leant into the kiss for a split second, welcoming her.  
Then his stupidly logical brain kicked in and he shoved her off, but, well, she kind of expected it. Alcohol made the man’s reaction worse, she’s sure - he barely could string three words together. He’s angry at her, she’s aware, but it doesn’t deter her. She knows him, she knows he won’t go to Hashirama for this.  
There’s still room to play. She’ll be careful, keeping herself in check, paying attention not to step out of the line. Mito is a kunoichi born and bred, she’s had contingency plans since the very beginning. She can deal with this fallout.  
She brushes her lips with her finger. All in all, it was worth it.  
When she opens the door of her house, she’s surprised to see her husband home. Wasn’t he supposed to stay at the office until dinner? It’s only mid afternoon. Taking off her sandals, she saunters over to him, kissing his cheek. “Hello dear. Why home so early?”

Hashirama’s head hangs a little lower, the dark cloud hanging above his head nearly visible in his gloom.  
“Madara’s being mean. I didn’t want to stay.”  
He’s aware it isn’t the most professional thing to do, leaving the office just because of a spat with one’s best friend, but he’s found in the past that he can’t concentrate on anything when he’s fighting with Madara. It’s his misfortune to have fallen in love with someone so prickly: they fight all the time.  
“And you? I thought you were going to see Tobirama.”  
He says it hesitantly, not really wanting the details if something’s happened. He knows what she’s doing and he is perfectly fine with it, but that doesn’t mean he wants to _know_. He has no need of those mental images, thank you very much.

She rolls her eyes at him, knowing he can’t see her. Overgrown toddler, really. Him and Madara more often than not behave like young children. Sometimes Mito feels like caring after Hashirama is good training for motherhood - how worse could an actual baby be?  
However, she doesn’t berate him and lets it pass, just this once. She’s too much in a good mood to be irked at him. “I left him to his experiments,” she says, stretching her arms above her head. Kami, but she’d like to channel all this bubbling energy into something physical. Since sex is still out of the equation, she may go look for Touka, see if she’s up for a spar. If she stays still, she’ll crawl out of her own skin.  
“He told me to tell you he can’t make it to the meeting tomorrow,” she informs Hashirama offhandedly. Mito knows Tobirama: when he’s upset he holes himself up in his labs and refuses to meet anyone. She would be very surprised if he were to meet Hashirama and the council the following morning.  
She’s not going to try to approach him for at least a few days, giving him time to mull it over, his little genius brain running in circles with something he doesn't want to admit.

“Oh no, no! He needs to be there! If he’s not there then it’ll just be Madara and me and I…” His head droops again, eyes watering while he thinks of the way Madara had simply turned his back and walked away earlier, right in the middle of Hashirama’s sentence. “He’s going to look at me with that disappointed face again. I hate that face. It’s like he’s calling me stupid without even saying anything.”  
Not that he isn’t used to that. Hashirama gets called a lot of names, he always has. He doesn’t really mind usually since a lot of the time he’s simply pretending to be less intelligent than he actually is. Sometimes he thinks Madara knows that and other times he thinks he doesn’t. The idea of Madara genuinely believing him to be stupid hurts.  
“I need something to cheer me up. Tell me some kind of good news, will you? Is, ah, how are things with Brother? Not like that! Don’t tell me about that! But...you know...things.”  
Alright, he concedes silently, it’s not that hard to mistake him as stupid when he has such trouble with words all the time.

Mito didn’t think she could dislike Madara more, but would you look a that, it’s physically possible. She’s not biased enough to deny that Hashirama was likely the one to set him off (it’s laughably easy to set off the Uchiha’s short temper, no self-control to speak of, he’s a joke of a shinobi), but it doesn’t change the fact that she’s quite protective of Hashirama. She doesn’t like to see her husband so down. It’s like seeing a sad puppy: you can’t help but want to cheer it up.  
“Things are going well,” she says, gracing him with a wink. If riling him up and making him splutter will get out of his dark mood, then she has no compunction against some well-placed innuendo. “I’m taking things slow. You know how your brother is.”

Hashirama scrunches his nose as he says, “No and I don’t really want to.”  
Ick. Ick, icky, and very ick-icky. He has no desire to ‘know how his brother is’ in that area. He would rather run naked through the public square than hear about that.  
There are, however, other things that he is very interested to know that she can hopefully tell him. He’s nervous to ask, a little afraid of the answer, but Tobirama hasn’t been treating him any differently lately so he figures the answer can’t be too bad.  
“Ah, I was wondering. He hasn’t said anything to me yet. About, you know, my _preferences_ . You wouldn’t happen to know why, would you? It’s not like him to avoid a subject like this. I mean, the subject of me hiding something from him.”  
Even though Mito already knows and despite the many deep conversations they have had on the subject, it is still very much ingrained in him to skirt the subject of his own sexuality in whatever way possible. He’s so used to substituting pronouns that even as he delights in pointing out a cute man in the street to his wife, it’s still in his habit to say _look at her_ .  
It would be nice to simply be himself someday without hiding, to have all his precious people accept that part of him without question.  
(It would also be nice to have Madara return his feelings but while Hashirama has always been a dreamer even he can tell when he’s dreaming too big.)

Mito shakes her head, giving him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, I haven't told him you're gay yet.” She sees the half-wince her husband gives, and rounds up on him, cupping his cheeks in her hands, angling his face to make him look at her.  
“I haven’t told him you’re gay yet because the right moment hasn’t come yet, not because I’m ashamed of you, alright? I don’t care if you like cock, and neither will Tobirama, I can promise you. We love you. Keep that in mind.”  
Tapping his cheek like she would with a child, she lets him go. “I shall warn you when I tell him. In the meantime, don’t beat yourself up.” She perks up, wearing her most mischievous smile. “Do you want me to organize you a very discreet trip to the pleasure house in Giraku? That should do away with your bad mood.”

His eyes widen, spreading open in time with the blush that spreads across his face until he likely resembles a startled tomato.  
“No! No thank you! I’m okay with all that!” He waves both hands in front of himself in a deterring manner. “I mean, it might be nice? I’m sure it would be nice. I’m sure I would like it. All that - er - stuff. But they wouldn’t be Madara…”  
As much as he would really like to finally experience sex that he can actually enjoy, he doesn’t like the idea of falling into bed with someone he doesn’t even know. It would feel like a betrayal, though he knows it wouldn’t be to _Madara_ . No, he feels as though he would be betraying his own feelings.  
Besides, the virgin Hokage? Never been with someone of the gender he actually prefers? He’d be laughed out of the pleasure house.

“I was kidding, don’t worry.” Chuckling, she raises on tiptoes to kiss her foolish husband on the forehead, then heads to their bedroom. She can’t quite spar in her kimono, after all. She hopes Touka is still at the training grounds - if not, she hopes Hyuuga Hito is.  
She likes that woman, she punches hard.  
On the threshold of the hallway, she turns to wave at Hashirama. “I’m going to the training grounds. I’ll braid your hair after dinner, if you want. Feel like it, dear?”

“Oh!” His entire countenance brightens immediately. “Yes please!”  
Half the fun of having long hair is having someone to play with it. As much as he worries that his brother or his best friend will storm in and find them wrapped up in such a silly activity, he adores the evenings when Mito agrees to brush his hair for him. The pretty braids - and sometimes the colorful ribbons - are only ever a bonus.  
“I’ll have dinner ready when you get back!”  
Mito smiles at him again before leaving the room. Now alone, Hashirama simply sits and basks in the warm feeling settling in his chest. His bad mood has lifted as easily as always now that he has something to look forward to.  
By the time his wife leaves the house he is already puttering around in the kitchen, humming quietly to himself. Not everything in his world is perfect but Hashirama is happy to have such a good life filled with such wonderful people.


	5. You Can't Hide

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mito doesn't do regret.

Mito: Holly  
Tobirama: Rae

She isn’t wearing any perfume yet he can still smell her, the natural scent of her skin infused in the air around them making him breath quick and shallow. He doesn’t want to get drunk on her scent, doesn’t want to notice it at all, and he’s glad they are nearly done with their task.  
It’s as if Hashirama is pushing them together lately and Tobirama honestly worries sometimes that his brother knows what transpired between them and is subtly punishing him with the constant reminder that her presence brings. It seems as if his sibling has taken every possible opportunity to force them to work together lately. He had a short period of safety when Mito left for a mission the morning after... _that night._ And he’d not had a single moment’s peace since.  
Today it’s the mission roster, something Tobirama usually takes care of on his own. It baffles him that only now when he actually wishes to drown himself in work does his brother finally choose to listen to his complaints about having to do so much on his own. It makes no sense.  
When Mito shifts in her chair to get a better look at the list of names he’d just picked up it takes a great deal of effort not to pull away. She’s been acting as though nothing happened between them, treating him no differently than she had before and making no reference to her strange behaviour. By now he’s fairly sure that she has no memory of it. It’s a common symptom of excessive alcohol intake. _That,_ at least, would make sense, though it doesn’t make it easier to be the only one carrying such guilt around.  
He sets the list back down in front of her, pointing out a name near the bottom of the page.  
“I would suggest Inuzuka Toboe for the mission to Iwagakure. She’s an excellent tracker, which they’ll need more than brute strength.” 

Inuzuka Toboe. Toboe, Toboe, Toboe, the name rings a bell… Oh, _right_.  
“She won’t accept, she just got pregnant. She already miscarried two, she will want to sit the whole nine months out this time. I’m sure she will shortly ask to be removed from the mission roster.”  
Mito knows it because she made it her mission to know the entire population of Konoha’s ninja. She did thorough research of all the clans: their history, their alliances, their enmity, their abilities. She knows all the Clan Heads and their close families, of course, from meetings and political dinners, but that’s not all. From the very beginning, Mito spotted the desire of all Fire’s kunoichi to cement their power in the newborn Village, the way they hadn’t managed to before, and she moved to grant that wish, drawing on her past life in Uzushio. A great number of women-dominated social circles were born, interlocking and overlapping, depending on Clan, age and profession. Gossip and intel were exchanged like polite war councils, friendships blossoming over shared interests.   
Everything is discussed, from in-Clan news to personal goals, sharing stories and advice - and in all circles, Mito is welcomed like the queen she is. Disputes and trades are politely settled between women, with their husbands, father and sons being none the wiser.  
(A few men do attend their gatherings, notably from the Nara and Yamanaka Clans, smart enough to know that politics don’t care about gender.) Mito points at another name on the roster of available ninja, divided by skillset. “What about her younger sister, Hige? I’m told she’s quite the tracker - more wolf than girl.”

“The same could be said of many Inuzuka,” Tobirama replies dryly, raising one eyebrow as he gives the suggestion some thought. “I’ve seen her in action, however, and it’s a good description of her. Agreed.”  
He marks down Hige’s name on the appropriate paperwork with a quiet feeling of satisfaction. He might not understand why Hashirama is forcing them together so much (and he might be constantly praying for some much needed space) but he does appreciate how much faster the work is getting done with two heads at it instead of one. The last time he went through his tasks this fast was the time Touka knocked over some the of the substances in his labs and he inhaled the fumes by accident. The memories are still hazy but he’s been told he was ‘scarily productive’ afterwards.  
Sitting up straight, Tobirama stretches in his chair until his back gives a satisfying popping sound, then he sighs with relief.  
“I believe that’s everything,” he murmurs as he stands and begins to gather the papers spread across the desk.  
While he knows better than to be rude about it, he rather hopes she takes the cue for her to leave now. He’s starting to get a little worried that he’ll lose his head a second time and Hashirama likely wouldn’t accept the excuse that he found the scent of her as intoxicating as the strange fumes he encountered in his labs that day. 

Tobirama stretches, and Mito’s eyes trail down to where his shirt rides high, showing a tease of white skin, the hollows of delectable hipbones and a trail of white hair disappearing into the band of his trousers. The sight strains her self-control, her fingers aching from the impulse to caress those hairs from chest to navel, and then down to the prize lying hidden.  
Mito hides a sigh. This man is bad for her hormones. Her sanity, too.  
To distract herself, she leans over and plucks the papers from his hands with the ease of someone who’s used to being around Tobirama even when he’s being grumpy, joining his stack with hers and neatly filing it away in the cabinets where it belongs.  
So far, Tobirama has been very good at pretending the kiss never happened, just like she predicted: he’s not treating her any different, but it’s obvious he’s trying to put distance between them.  
Mito’s not going to let it happen. Pulling a page from her husband’s book, she plays oblivious, and it’s way funnier than she thought it would be. “Hashirama’s birthday is coming up. I was thinking of getting him a new festival yukata - and I spotted some very pretty fabrics at the tailor on Kabuki street. Would you like to come with me and help me pick one?”

A tiny shiver of relief ghosts through his limbs. If she has plans then perhaps she will leave and he will be able to spend the rest of his day alone, undisturbed. It would be nice to have a few hours in which to pretend that the devil woman at his side were not occupying an increasingly alarming portion of his thoughts.  
“No, thank you,” he responds as politely as he can. “I detest shopping; the crowds always make me uncomfortable. My advice would be something in a dark green color and perhaps one of the simpler patterns. Brother is loud enough on his own, his clothes don’t need to be loud too.”  
When they were children Hashirama had nearly talked their father into purchasing a brilliant orange fabric for him to have his new feastday clothes made from and Tobirama had gotten a headache just thinking about it. His brother has always looked best in the greens and browns that anyone would have been able to guess from his Wood Style. He himself has always preferred blue, evidenced by his insistence on wearing the color nearly every day.  
Mito, he thinks, would look good in just about anything. Then he realizes what he is thinking and mentally smacks himself on the wrist.  
“I’m only going to be staying here in the office so you can go on without me. Don’t let me stop your fun.”  
With that he rises from the small table they’ve been working at and crosses the room back to his actual desk, lowering himself into the chair with a great deal of relief. Separated now, he can breathe again. The air around him no longer smells of forbidden fruits that he should not want so badly to pluck. 

If she had any less grace she would be rolling her eyes - as it is, she politely raises her eyebrows in a sarcastic expression of surprise. Fat chance she's letting him go this easily. “Right, how could I forget you hate shopping, how _foolish_ of me. It's not like we spent _hours_ bonding over our shared hatred of shopping.”  
She taps her foot on the floor, her sandal making a nice clacking, impatient sound. “If I have to do this, you're going down with me. I already chose the pattern. Help me get his size right by playing mannequin and _perhaps_ I won't endorse the singing challenge my esteemed husband has been planning for his birthday feast.”  
Mito wouldn't lower herself to something as crass as blackmail, oh no. Let's call it ‘fair trade’.

His entire body stills as he looks up at her with an expression of absolute disgust.  
_“Singing challenge?”_  
Instead of a shiver, he shudders now. If Hashirama thought he could finally convince Tobirama to sing in front of others then he had another thing coming. No one’s heard him sing a single note in his life and he would rather prefer to keep it that way. Tobirama is good at many things. Singing is not one of them.  
“Hmph. You play dirty. But your threats are not as scary as you want them to be: I can dodge Hashirama and any foolish attempts he makes to force me to squawk like some broken bird in front of others.”  
He narrows his eyes contemplatively. He’s not going to be able to get out of it. Once Mito makes up her mind that someone should be doing something, in the end they always do it. He would prefer to stay here but at least outside he will not have to stand quite so close as to be overwhelmed by her presence as he has been today.  
“I’ll go if you buy me some taiyaki,” he offered.

_Oh boy, you haven't seen nothing yet when it comes to playing dirty, believe me._  
“Deal,” she's quick to agree. Two birds with a stone: spending time with Tobirama and getting the chore done. Perfect.  
She delicately claps her hands, seeing that Tobirama is taking his sweet time getting up. “Chop chop, there's some taiyaki with your name written on it. I'd like to hit the onsen with my friends afterwards, you know.”  
With the Senju following her a bit morose, they leave the tower, heading towards the commercial district. “Half payment before, half at the completion?” she jokes, quoting ninja's common payment method.

“If you’re offering to buy me two taiyaki then I’m not going to complain.”  
He really wouldn’t. If only his enemies knew how easily he could be plied with sweets, he would lose all respect on the battlefield.  
The sour expression on his face slips away to become a gentle one when he spots a few children playing underneath the cart of a man selling fried squid. The elder gentlemen sweeps at them with a broom, concealing his amusement behind a fluffy mustache, and the sound of their gleeful squeals makes Tobirama smile. 

Tobirama's smile truly is something that will never cease to fascinate Mito. It makes him… glow, almost, of a sort of quiet happiness. It's humbling, and it makes her smile as well.  
She kind of wants him to smile like that at her, to be the cause of such a peaceful expression.  
“I'm not buying you fried squid too,” she jokingly warns, voluntary mistaking the source of his attention. 

“Hm? Oh. No, of course not.”  
He clears his throat and returns his eyes to the road ahead of them, stepping aside for a woman carrying an overburdened basket. He does it without thought, a reflexive action to avoid colliding and politely give way to someone who needs it, but the motion presses him right up against his companion’s side. As soon as he feels her against him his eye twitches, realizing what he’s done, but there’s nothing for him to do but wait for the civilian woman to pass him by.  
Those few seconds seem to last a lifetime, an eternity in which he can feel every minute detail of the curve of her breast and the hard lines of her muscle. His mind takes off immediately to provide him with images of them both pressed together like this in very different situations - much less innocent places than the middle of a crowded market place.  
By the time the poor overburdened woman has passed him by he is already breathing a little too heavily, leaping away from Mito as though burned by the contact. He forces his eyes to stare resolutely forward and hopes that she hasn’t noticed any of the untoward thoughts which just raced through his mind.

Mito shoots an exasperated look at the man’s back: seriously, why is he giving her so much pain? Why can't he just admit that physical closeness feels good? It would make things so much easier if he just gave in.   
But then again, he wouldn't be Tobirama if he did.  
When he glances at her, Mito's face is again schooled in a pleasant, though bland, expression. “Tell me, Tobirama, my friend, what would you do for a full meal of sushi?”

Tobirama would do a lot of things for a good spread of sushi, not all of which he would be proud of afterwards. Even more than his sweet tooth, sushi is his biggest weakness - foodwise, that is.  
That she is asking implies that she likely wants him to do her a favor but...sushi!  
“That depends on what you plan to ask of me,” he rumbles, trying not to seem overly eager. Just because she knows how badly he wants what she is offering does not mean he needs to make a fool out of himself to get it.  
“You’ve already promised me sweets, Mito. Do you think me so cheaply bought?” 

She smiles heavenly at him. “Yes,” she answers primly, in all her grace. “I do think so. Enough at least to agree to helping me choose a kimono for myself.” She sighs, rolling her eyes. “Sadly, my friends aren't reliable.” She loves Akimichi Rei and Yamanaka Yuuka dearly, but they seem to have made it their goal to dress her in ‘true Fire fashion’, whatever _that_ means. When they gave her a star-patterned purple yukata, Mito thought it a joke - but no, they were serious: that tacky monstrosity really was considered _fashion_. Hashirama loves it, while Mito hates it with the same passion a cat reserves for water.  
Thank goodness, Tobirama shares her sobriety.   
(That she gets to parade around in expensive kimonos in front of the man she likes is just an added bonus.)  
She spots a street vendor selling the dearly-sought taiyaki and she pulls out her wallet from a pocket hidden inside the neckline of her kimono. “Go and get your fill.”

On the one hand he almost doesn’t want to touch the money because it has evidently been riding right next to her breasts and his head is absolutely not on straight enough to deal with that at the moment. On the other hand - he snatches it as politely as possible without actually seeming to snatch it. Then he stomps over to the stall selling his promised treat while trying not to seem like he is stomping.  
It’s like she is doing it all deliberately, though he can’t imagine that she is. There have been no signs that she recalls her strange actions, pushing him so far past his comfort zone and violating his person. And if she doesn’t remember doing that and has no reason to do such a thing again then he cannot for the life of him fathom why she would be intentionally making him uncomfortable with constant innuendos and half-serious flirting that might also be perfectly innocent actions.  
He thinks he might be going insane and when they lock him in the madhouse he will cheerfully point the fault at her.  
When he returns to her side with one hand occupied with taiyaki he hands her the wallet back absently with the other, busy biting into his sweet treat. Then he jumps a little at the way her fingers caress his own while she retrieves her property.  
“So,” he clears his throat, pulling his hand away as subtly as he can. “Where did you say you saw those fabrics you wished to look at?” 

“Over there.” Patience, Mito, patience. The wallet goes back where it came from - her breasts aren't as big as Yuuka’s, but there is still space enough between them to keep her money.  
Walking leisurely, she leads Tobirama down the commercial district. The new tailor that struck her fancy is easy to spot, colourful textiles being displayed for the passers by to see. Thankfully, the owner seems to be an enlightened person, catering to both the tacky tastes of Fire's people and the more sober ones of someone born in Uzushio: Mito has no doubt Hashirama would be delighted in receiving a yukata made from the bright green fabric with even brighter suns stitched on she can see exposed, but she has no intention to be forced to have such a monstrosity in her house. She fears prolonged exposure might burn her retinas.  
She enters the shop the way a queen might enter her palace, and the owner hurries to serve her, likely recognizing her as the Hokage’s wife - her hair _is_ quite distinctive, as is the seal on her forehead.   
Politely but firmly, she has the man bring her the silver men’s yukata she saw yesterday, the one with The black abstract pattern. The cloth is pure silk, smooth and cool to the touch - the silver thread shimmers, looking like spun water. Mito nods, satisfied: only the best for her husband.  
She turns to Tobirama, holding the garment out. “Try it, please.” The two brothers have pretty much the same size, with Hashirama having slightly wider shoulders.

She has good taste, he’ll have to give her that. The fabric she picked out isn’t anywhere near as gaudy as most of the ones he tends to see around town, thank kami. He himself tends towards solid colors of simple embroidery at the cuffs and hems of his formal wear. Bold patterns make him feel as though he were screaming even when he is standing perfectly still.  
“The last time I let myself get roped in to playing dress-up I was only nine years old and Touka had an advantage: I couldn’t fight back while my arm was still broken.”  
Even the spiral fracture in his arm hadn’t kept him still through all the tortures, however. She had chased him around the house for twenty minutes with a makeup brush in hand, his small feet tripping over the bright purple kimono she had wrestled him into.  
(The memory of it is still her favorite blackmail material, much to his chagrin.)  
He takes the cloth and allows the shopkeeper to point him in the direction of the fitting rooms, where he strips down to his underclothes as quickly as possible, sliding the silver kimono on just as fast.  
The moment he is wearing it, however, he has to pause a moment to admire the feeling of the expensive silk against his skin. He’s glad no one can see him as he runs a hand down his own stomach. If this is the one Mito purchases for her husband he thinks he might be a little jealous. It’s an exquisite piece.

The curtain opens with a flourish and a god of frost and winter and steel steps out. Clad in liquid silver, Tobirama looks like an ice sculpture given life, his pale skin almost glowing, like a full moon in a starless night. The slant of his eyes, his high cheekbones, the red marks slashing his face - they all make him look sharp like a blade, cutting and perfect. His red eyes fix on her, like drops of blood on virgin snow.  
Fuck, Hashirama can have another. She's buying this for Tobirama, propriety damned. She knows he doesn't like gifts but he's going to have to suck it up.  
Kami, but she wants to touch him, disrobe him slowly like unwrapping a gift, fall on her knees to worship him as he deserves.  
Like a cat to cream, Mito can't help but approach him, her hands rising to adjust the collar, then smoothing down the folds on the chest - any excuse is good to touch him.  
“It looks so good on you. I think I'll buy this one for you and we can look for another for Hashirama.” She humms, caressing his shoulders. “It needs to be let down a bit on the shoulders, but other than that, it's perfect.”

“What? No. We came here so you could buy a gift for Hashirama, not me. I have a kimono already.”  
Just because it’s the most beautiful kimono he’s ever worn and he would actually very much like to have it for his own does not mean he wants her to buy it for him. He has, in fact, two kimono at home already. One of them had been gifted to him by the Daimyo himself. (And yet still this one is of higher quality.) To have a third seems excessive and he has always felt guilty about owning things he does not need.  
“This one is fine for Hashirama, Mito. He’ll like it as much as you do.”  
His brother would like the shiny color of the silver threads and he knows for certain that the big lug would spend all evening each time he wears it running his fingers up and down the silken sleeves.  
Not that he would do the same, of course. Not to say that he’s doing it right now, inside the cuffs where his fingers can move unseen. 

Mito grins, circling around Tobirama like a wolf to see how the kimono falls on his back - _not_ to oogle at his butt, of course. That would be crass. “Let me acquaint you with a concept called ‘impulse shopping’.” She turns to the tailor, who looks quite happy with her enthusiasm. “Your merchandise is truly exceptional. Make those shoulders a bit wider and I'll take it. How much for it?”  
He tells her his price, and she nods her head at him, gracing him with one of her sharp smiles. “I was thinking of purchasing a kimono for myself - and of course my husband will need a new one, now that this goes to Tobirama.” She lowers her voice, her words but a purr. “The family of the Senju Clan head will be wearing your masterpieces at the celebration for the Hokage’s birthday feast. I'll be sure to let the elite know where we shopped,” she says, proceeding then to state her own price.  
They soon get to a compromise, the man bowing to her and Mito inclining her head to him. “Good. Now, what about that dark blue women’s kimono I see there? Isn't it lovely?”

“Mito, I’ve already said I don’t need a new kimono.”  
His voice is decisive and strong even as his fingers continue to run alongside the insides of the sleeves.  
“This is entirely unnecessary.”  
But for the one alteration it needs, the garment fits him as though it were made with him in mind. He’d caught a brief glimpse of himself in the mirror that had been propped up in the fitting room and he happened to know that it looked as good as it felt.  
Mito, however, isn’t paying him the slightest attention. Her eyes are on the blue garment being fetched by the shopkeeper. It’s a lovely shade of blue and it will certainly go wonderfully with her eyes. The deep shade of it promises to accentuate the pale shade of her skin as well.  
Tobirama blinks and forces his eyes away from her.  
“I’m not going to be able to talk you out of this am I?” he grumbles, turning to go change back into his own clothing. There was never any turning Mito from her intended path, he knew that very well. 

“Better men than you have tried and failed, dear,” she offers lightheartedly, retreating to the fitting room with her prize. It's a tomesode, the shorter sleeves befitting of her married status. It's absolutely gorgeous, the midnight blue silk like morning dew under her fingers.  
When she disrobes and puts it on, it feels like a lover's smooth caress on her naked skin, making her shiver. There is a carousel of small golden foxes running around her legs, their eyes red like rubies, and the obi matches them, all gold and red, a perfect counterpoint to the dark fabric.  
Tying an obi in such an enclosed space is not easy, but eventually Mito manages to, pulling the curtain back. “How do I look?” she asks in a low sultry voice to Tobirama, her hands caressing the curve of her hips, mesmerized by the feel of the silk.

The figure emerging from behind the curtain cannot possibly be the same woman. Mito is beautiful. This creature before him is _resplendent._ He was right: the deep blue color of the silk perfectly accentuates her complexion, making his fingers itch to trace the edges of the dipping collar. In a brief moment of insanity, he imagines her with her red hair spilling down the front, that gorgeous kimono rumpled and sliding off.  
Then he swallows firmly and very sharply digs his nails into his own palm, forcibly chasing such disgusting thoughts away from himself.  
“There aren’t words,” he replies, perhaps a little too honestly. She seems pleased enough with his response, however, and it is all he can do to look away, striding over to the other fabrics on display under the pretense of choosing one his brother might like. 

Unseen, Mito preens. She wants to drink the admiration in Tobirama's eyes like a fine wine, wants to bask in the awe-striken look he bore like a cat leaning into petting.  
Satisfied, she returns to the fitting room, changing back in her everyday kimono, folding the silken masterpiece with regret, wishing she could wear it all the time.   
(Actually, who's stopping her? She'll wear it tonight at home, asking Hashirama to dance with her. Only them, their living room and the radio. If she can't have Tobirama, she'll take her pleasures where she can.)  
When she joins Tobirama, leaving her new kimono in the hands of the tailor to pack it up, she notices he's holding up a silken men kimono of a deep copper shade - depending on how the light hits it, it looks brown or burgundy. “Well, isn't this a pretty one,” she comments, approving of the non-invasive black leaf pattern on the sleeves and lower hem.  
“It would look nice on your brother. Try it on for size?”

“If you declare this one mine as well I shall have to inform Hashirama that you intend to pauper him by the end of the year.” He glares meaningfully at her as he passes by, heading once more for the little curtain that will afford him the privacy to change. “These pieces are expensive!”  
He grumbles to himself as he pulls the new garment on, glancing sideways at the mirror. This one looks good on him as well, though he suspects that it’s likely mostly due to the craftsmanship than the coloring. The silk is still like water on his skin and yet he finds himself biased enough to remember his own as being smoother. Still, this is an excellent choice for Hashirama.  
He ducks past the curtain and holds both arms out with a slightly dry expression on his face.  
“Adequate? Or will I be subjected to further rounds of dress up?”

“Don't be silly, that colour doesn't suit you,” she calls after him. “It's too dark, you can't afford such a stark contrast, it makes you look like a corpse.”  
Of course, right then he chooses to leave the fitting room and she has to take back her words: he doesn't look half bad in the rust-coloured kimono.   
She might be biased, though. She’s sure Tobirama would look good in anything - would even look _better_ with nothing.  
“It _would_ be fine in a pinch, I guess, but it doesn't do you justice as much as the other one,” she compromises, stepping up to check the shoulders and the hemline.  
“Here, the shoulders are just wide enough, but the hemline is too long,” she tells the tailor, kneeling in front of Tobirama to fold the lower hem at the desired length. “The Hokage hates being constricted in his movements.”

The way she looks at him in the brief moment he stands outside the curtain is strange. He might have called it lust if he thought it possible.  
(He does think it possible. The memories are still too fresh of being hazy and warm and feeling her thighs across his own. He forces himself to forget.)  
Desperate to keep his mind where it belongs, he ducks back into the fitting room to change for the final time. When he emerges he hands the copper kimono to the waiting assistant with a cool nod.  
“Any other tasks that I don’t want to do but you’ll force me to anyway?”

_Kiss me, eat me out, fuck me._  
As patient a hunter Mito is, but any predator would whine and snarl when the prey is so close and yet still so far out of reach, frustration making her look away, lest he can see her turmoil in her grey eyes.  
She doesn't want to resort to forcing him - she wants Tobirama to _want_ her.  
“We're done here,” she announces crisply, picking up her wrapped up kimono from the tailor - they agreed on sending a helper to the admin building for the funds necessary, bearing a check signed by Mito. In a newborn village like Konoha, the tailor knows the leader isn't going to scam him over, not when his reputation still isn't fully cemented.  
It's the memory of the kiss, so fresh in her mind, that draws the next words from her as they leave: “So, how are your iryojutsu studies coming? Did you manage to work on the cell regeneration or are you still stuck on affecting only the blood?”

Her question freezes his entire body, leaving him standing perfectly still just inside the open door of the shop as Mito strolls down the street ahead of him. The door swings shut and catches him on the back, forcing him to stumble a few steps forward, and yet he stills again, completely unable to process anything as complicated as walking right then.  
How could she have known to ask him about his iryojutsu if she doesn't remember that night? If her memories of that kiss - which should never have happened - were blanked out by the drinks they had shared then she should also have had no recollection of what they had been doing just before.  
She _can’t_ remember. Mild panic spirals up from the pit of his belly. She _can’t._ If she does then that means she meant to kiss him, that it wasn’t a drunken mistake as he so very much wishes to pass it off as. He doesn’t want to think Mito capable of attempting to seduce another man while still married to Hashirama.  
He doesn’t want to wonder if he will have the strength to resist.  
Mito peeks over her shoulder, her expression only mildly curious. She appears mildly concerns for why he came to such an abrupt halt and nothing more. Confusion wars with the panic until his stomach is a knotted ball while he forces his feet to move, trailing after her down the street.  
“I haven’t had the time to work on it,” he mumbles quietly, thoughts racing. 

“Oh, too bad. I'm sure you'll find a solution,” she says in uplifting tone, gently patting his arm in sympathy.  
It was quite amusing to see him freeze like a bird in front of a snake, looking at her with wide, disbelieving eyes. Did he think she forgot?   
Actually… Now that she thinks about it, he probably did, didn't he? When she didn't mention it afterwards, he probably ascribed her behaviour to the alcohol’s fault, and thought that excessive consumption had clouded her memories. As if. She could drink half the Senju Clan under the table.  
It's so very much like Tobirama to find a perfectly logical solution and file it away - he deals so badly with conflicting emotions.  
Pleased with herself, Mito doesn't say anything else as they head to the Senju compound, an easy silence between them. When in front of her house, she waves cheerfully at him. “Goodbye Tobirama. Go home and relax - don't go back to working, alright?”

His heart is pounding so harshly he can barely lift his hand to wave her off. Tobirama drifts down the road towards his own home in a daze, barely seeing the world pass him by. His mind is awhirl with worries, panicked thoughts, and questions he only half-desires to have answers to.  
Does she truly remember? If she does, how can she be so calm about it? Is she not bothered by what she did? What _they_ did.  
He aches in the deepest parts of his soul, guilt clouding his vision until he suddenly finds himself in his bedroom with no memory of having travelled there. He doesn’t understand how she can be so unaffected when he feels ready to tear his hair out because he can’t stop thinking about it.  
He has to speak to her about this, he decides. He needs an explanation of her behavior once and for all. He needs the _facts._ He’s always more comfortable when he has all the facts and he can peel them apart for reasons, patterns, logic.  
Hashirama leaves tomorrow for the Land of Iron, to meet with the samurai in the hopes of forging a new alliance. He is scheduled to be gone for two weeks, plenty of time for Tobirama to quietly speak with his wife and settle things between them before any of this gets farther out of hand. He finds that even as he confirms the plan in his head, he is dreading going through with it.  
What if it wasn’t an accident? 


	6. Preying On You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tobirama confronts Mito. He can’t live with this doubt anymore. And as ever, Mito plays with him.

Mito: Holly  
Tobirama: Rae

The meeting with the Hatake Clan went smoothly, putting Mito in a good mood. The ninja Clan itself is quite small by Fire’s standards, but it’s unique in its structure, for it has a civilian branch that specializes in farming, making it one of the few ninja Clan that during the war had been able to be completely self-sufficient. Now, their expertise is going to be precious for the newly-born Konoha, which is still working out the kinks of feeding its growing population.  
October has swept over the Village, stealing all the pretty yellow and red leaves from the trees, turning them to wet, slick mush. The sky is grey, threatening - _again_ \- to rain. In this precise season of the year, Fire looks exactly like Whirlpool: wet and miserable and cold.   
(Mito cannot wait for winter. She came to Konoha at the beginning of the year and the snow had already melted. By the seaside, snow comes quite rarely.)  
Huddling in her jacket, she takes to the rooftops, eager to get back home to a warm cup of honeyed cider. However, in front of her home’s gate there’s a surprise for her: Senju Tobirama, who raises his head sharply when she lands close to him.   
“Hello Tobirama. Were you waiting for me? I was about to make myself some warm cider. Want to come in and have some?” she asks, breathing on her hands to warm them, nodding at her house. What might have brought him to her door? Was be worried about the negotiations with the Hatake?

“No, thank you, I don’t need any cider. I would like to come in, however. I need to speak to you.”   
Mito’s smile is welcoming but vague. He can tell she has no idea what he is here about and it makes him sway yet again in the direction of ‘she doesn’t remember’. He doesn’t waver in his intent, though. He needs to know for certain and put this situation to rest once and for all. He is tired of being restless and unsure of himself - tired of being unsure of _her._ Mito is his best friend and he doesn’t like the small fragments of doubt that itch and fester inside him.   
He follows her inside to the kitchen, watching her every movement as she begins preparing her favorite autumn drink and revising what he wants to say in his head for the hundredth time. 

Did Hashirama do something? Mito racks her brain, trying to remember her husband’s last words before he left that morning, but no, she can’t think of anything. Tobirama looks serious - well, more serious than usual - and it leads Mito to think it may be something personal. If it were something work-related that’s bugging him, he would have spilled it out as soon as they were inside - and yet, even as her cider warms in a pot over the stove, he stays silent, biting his lip.   
Leaning against the counter, she turns to face him, tilting her head curiously. “Tea?” she offers, trying to make a polite opening.

“No, I don’t want tea.” With a bracing sigh, he squares his shoulders. “I want an explanation.”  
Mito gives him a look that suggests she still has absolutely no idea what he is talking about and Tobirama draws both of his brows down tightly, his mouth twisting into a scowl. Even if she truly does not remember that night in his labs, he refuses to believe that the rest of her behavior has been all in his head.  
“To start with, I would like the truth of how much you remember about last week, when you came to see me while I was working. We both had quite a bit to drink but I’m not certain how much you recall of what happened.”  
He wants to demand _why, why would you do that_ but grinds his teeth together to hold it in. If the memories are not there in her mind he will not make her feel guilty about something she truly did not mean to do.   
If she does remember...that is a whole other story. And she will not wriggle her way out of the rest of the discussion either. 

Oh, so _this_ is what all this fuss is about, mh?  
She pours herself a cup of cider, letting the silence stretch as she thinks about what to say. She didn’t quite expect him to confront her openly, not when he’s so good at making excuses to avoid conflict with his closest people. “I came to your labs with a bottle of shochu. We shared it, talked about Madara’s goat ancestry, about Hashirama’s career as an actor, then the conversation veered off on the topic of iryojutsu. I cut myself to let you try a new jutsu you learnt, it didn’t quite work, then I kissed you.” She keeps her words easy, simple and direct, breathing in the sweet scent of honeyed cider, carefully watching Tobirama’s reaction. “Did I miss something?” she prompts, wishing to see where the Senju wants to bring this.

She says it so casually, as though the fact that she kissed a man that is not her husband were of so little consequence. His eyes narrow as anger worms its way in amongst the jittery feeling he’s been carrying around since the night before. She sounds as though she doesn’t even care!  
“You missed the part where you explain _why_ you kissed me,” he grinds out, trying to hold his temper. He would like to provide her with the benefit of the doubt. She has always been a very composed person; it’s possible that she cares but has already made her peace with her mistake.   
He, on the other hand, has found no peace at all. 

She takes a sip, never taking her eyes off of him. She’s no sensor, but she doesn’t need it to read his body language: he’s angry, possibly close to an outburst, and when a ninja the caliber of Senju Tobirama wants to vent out, it’s not healthy to be anywhere close. She keeps her poise, leaning against the counter, but her muscles are coiled, ready to spring were he to make any move, her chakra chains ready to burst into the air at any notice.  
“I remember perfectly. It takes more than a third of a bottle to compromise my memory.” Another sip. “So do you, apparently. Why are you bringing it up now, though?”

“You did not answer my question.”  
If she’s not going to answer his then he feels no obligation to answer hers.  
He can feel the way her chakra shifts, poised and ready as though to attack him, and it makes him shift in response. His feet turn and his stance squares, his shoulders straightening. None of it is conscious, merely his body reacting to a possible threat as though they were on the sparring field. He’s glad they aren’t. If they were, the roiling emotions inside him make him wonder if he would be able to hold himself back from truly hurting her.   
“Why did you kiss me, Mito? And why is it that you appear not to care?”  
He’s never strained his ears so hard in his life, attention entirely focused on waiting for the answer which will determine his next reaction. He wants so badly for there to be a simple explanation to this all, even if he knows that there likely isn’t. 

Slowly, a smile spreads over Mito’s face, sweet and secretive. So he wants it put in nice little words, doesn’t he? What a waste. Seduction is a beautiful, beautiful game, and his approach at the topic is not unlike a woodcutter jumping in the middle of a ballet, chopping at the stage. It’s crude, and it grates on her. So much wasted efforts.  
“I kissed you because I wanted to. I kissed you because I find you handsome, and I would like you in my bed. I kissed you because Hashirama doesn’t, and he wouldn’t care where I find company as long as I’m not going against him.”   
Truth, as far as truths go. Not a single word is a lie - she does find him hot, and Hashirama wouldn’t be hurt by her actions.   
She could tell him that her husband is gay, and that he agreed to her finding a lover.  
She doesn’t.   
He ruined her game, robbing Mito of the answers she wanted - would she be able to sway Tobirama to her side, is she still able to seduce a man like she used to?  
Tobirama denied her the answers she wanted, so in a fit of pique, she sees no reason why she should give him any.

The small spirals of anger wind faster, flow thicker, until he feels unadulterated rage burning through his veins at alarming speeds. She really doesn’t care. He liked her, _trusted_ her, thought he knew her.   
He was wrong.   
“To find other company is, in and of itself, _going against him._ And I will remind you that this is my own brother of which you speak, your _husband._ You are married, Mito. Married to a good man who does not deserve to be treated so callously.”  
His breathing rasps in his throat almost painfully as his heart constricts within his chest. He can’t decide if he feels betrayed more for himself or for Hashirama.  
“Do you even understand what it is you ask of me, you...you...I don’t even have a word for you right now!”  
It takes quite a bit to render him beyond words. He would concede a point to her there if he were capable or any rational thought beyond ‘how could you’. 

Mito’s eyes narrow dangerously, her grimace of distaste hidden by her cup. She’s almost tempted to evoke one of her chakra chains to do some menial task like fetching the honey pot sitting on the table, just as a casual reminder not to fuck with her, but decides against it - it’s not worth it, not when Tobirama could take it as an act of aggression and react accordingly. Mito doesn’t want to start a fight in her own house - doesn’t want to start a fight she fear would need her to go all out to avoid being hurt seriously.  
“And what did I ask of you, pray tell? I offered you myself.” She opens her arms wide, as if showcasing her body. “I didn’t think you’d find a roll in the sheets that unappealing. I like you, and I know you like me. You _liked_ the attentions I paid to you, please don’t insult my intelligence by denying it.”

“A roll in the-!” His eye twitches as he tries hard to contain the full force of his reaction to her ridiculous statement. He fails somewhat, his next words come out harsh and loud, nearly screaming in his anger.  
“You asked me to betray my own brother! You asked me to cuckold a member of my own family! Not just asked me to: Mito, you forced me to! I understand that _you_ don’t seem to care but do you realize the guilt that I feel? I’ve betrayed him. My most precious person. You are his wife, his...and I…”   
His hands clawed in the air in front of him as he searched for words, his sentence choking off in his throat when they would not come. The anguish he has been going through over the past few days, the guilt and confusion and the anger he felt not only for her but for his own complicity, surely all of it is naked on his face. He finds that for once he does not care that he can be read like an open book. Perhaps it’s a good thing since he can’t seem to say any of it out loud.  
“You cannot say that you care for him then turn around and cast him aside like so much trash for nothing more than physical satisfaction. Do your vows mean nothing to you? Does _his happiness_ mean nothing to you? He would be devastated to know what we did!”   
Unable to continue looking at her, Tobirama half turns and stares into the empty air above the countertops. Like an enemy he expects to strike, he keeps Mito in the corner of his vision.   
“He will hate us both. Do you understand that? What you ask of me is not a simple _roll in the sheets,_ you ask me to forfeit my own sibling’s love for sex. I will not. I absolutely will not.”  
His brother has only just left the village this morning, not due back for thirteen more days. Tobirama wishes for time to move both slower and faster. It’s going to be one hell of a conversation, but Hashirama deserves to know what happened - what _is_ happening. He’ll have to speak to the older man the moment he returns.

In a morbid way, it’s fascinating to watch Tobirama crumble, anger and anguish making his words sharp, his eyes narrowed, his teeth bared. There’s a wildness to him, like a thunderstorm barely contained - the tension is like a physical force in the room, like gasoline ready to burn. He looks untamable, and Mito both loves and hates him for it.  
“‘What we did’? Tobirama, you did _nothing_.” And isn’t that the source of all her frustration? “How can you say Hashirama would be angry with you, when you literally did _nothing_?” He voice is low, close to a hiss, her patience very close to expiring.  
“I love Hashirama very much, and I will _not_ allow you to put it in doubt. We don’t love each other as men and women do, but it doesn’t mean I cherish my husband any less.”  
My, how very polite they’re being to each other, keeping their words in check and their postures carefully non-threatening - like lions dressed in silk, claws sheathed, pretending to be housecats. “I’m simply tired of sleeping in a cold bed, so to speak.”

His eyes snap back to hers, the tempest inside him not slowing even a little. He feels a little like he’s been caught in the center of a hurricane, unable to move even though it’s the only way he will be able to reach safety.   
“Of course I’ve done something wrong! I kissed you! I kissed _my brother’s wife!_ Explain to me in what way that is not considered doing something wrong!”  
One of his hands, he realizes, has reached up to tangle in his hair, pulling on the locks so harshly he’s a little surprised he hasn’t managed to tear it all out. It’s a poor habit of anger that he usually only allows himself in private. Kami but this woman has a power like no other to drive him past his limits.   
“I don’t care how cold your bed is. If you’re unsatisfied with the amount of...intimate relations you are having with my brother then it should be him you speak to about it. You shouldn’t be gallivanting off with whoever catches your eye. There are words for that, and none of them are complimentary! If you truly loved him you would not cheat on him!”  
If he had an ounce less self control he would be flailing his arms, shouting nonsense at the top of his lungs, throwing things in a tantrum of proportions he hasn’t seen since his own brothers were infants stealing toys from each other. It’s all he can do to confine himself to a slightly raised voice and a flush of anger on his cheeks. He’s glad there are no mirrors in the room. He has no desire to know whether his emotions are as plain in his eyes as they feel like they are.  
He also has no desire to know how inadequate his brother apparently is in the bedroom. That is most definitely information he could have gone the rest of his life without knowing. It’s not something he has any business knowing, but there it is. The deeply buried childish parts of him wonder hysterically if there are any jutsu that will allow him to remove some of his own memories. To forget this entire episode might be the only way he will ever sleep peacefully again.

“A bitch?” she suggests in a honeyed voice, putting her cider down and leaving the counter, approaching him with the languid stalk of a predator. “A prostitute?”   
Three steps, and she’s in front of him. Mito came at him slowly, openly, giving him all the time to back off - but he didn’t, and that makes him her hunting ground. “A _whore_ , Tobirama? Is that how you call women who take what they want, in this land?”  
Why is he beating himself up like this? No one ever considered her kisses something to regret, something to get so angry over. Mito doesn’t understand his guilt - it wasn’t Tobirama who kissed her, it was _Mito_ who kissed _him_.   
He did hesitate for a split second, before pushing her away - is it what is haunting him? His _indecision_?   
Mito almost snarls in aggravation. All this drama because he was _indecisive_ , not even because he actually _acted_ out of line.   
Well, then, let’s make this ‘mistake’ of his count for something.   
“You’re right,” she lies. “You kissed me back.” That’s stretching the truth so much it may as well be a lie. “I know you want me.” Truth. Despite everything, despite his anger, despite his sharp words, still Tobirama can’t take his eyes off of her - and not only the way a trained ninja won’t look away from a potential enemy. No, Tobirama is looking at her the way a man would look at something he desperately wants, dangled out of his reach - something desirable and unattainable.   
Let’s show him just how _close_ she is.  
Mito isn’t as fast as the incredible Tobirama, but they’re so close it hardly matters: in a flicker, she closes the two steps between them and presses up close against him, her lips working against his. Trained kunoichi that she is, Mito is ready to escape to safety, her muscles coiled, adrenaline pumping madly in her veins, almost drunk on excitement.  
But Tobirama doesn’t move: he doesn’t push her away, he doesn’t attack her.  
He kisses her back. Mito’s keeping her eyes open, so she can see his red eyes are wide, shocked, but his lips are moving against hers - just a brush and a hint of teeth.

When she moves close, at first he thinks she simply means to make some point. Her words have him torn between freezing in place and bolting because he is almost to the point where he longer understands how to process the emotions inside of him.   
Then she kisses him and for a moment the option to move is stolen from him. His entire self shuts down along with all of his thought processes. Like a pause in the middle of a sentence he stops moving entirely, almost stops breathing. Her eyes bear into his own like they can see his very soul and they strip away every mental defense he has ever built. They strip him _bare_ until he cannot deny that she has hit upon the truth of half of his guilt.   
He wants her. He cannot deny how much he wishes she were his.  
For the briefest moment his body acts without his conscious direction and he is kissing her, pressing his lips back into hers as though he has the right to. She tastes sweet like her cider with something wild hidden underneath that must be her natural flavor. She is soft and warm and so perfect that he can almost see what it would be like to just give in. When he realizes what he is doing, it is like a great rending tear inside his mind, a silent wail of anguish as he understands just what he has done.   
His hands have wrapped around her upper arms and forced her back at arm’s length almost before he processes the need to do so. He gasps for breath, his heart threatening to beat its way out through his ribcage in the most horrible of ways. Unadulterated horror fills him, covering his face, and he can almost feel the physical sensation of his entire world coming crashing down around his ears.   
“What have I done?” he whispers, his eyes still locked with hers. “Merciful sage, what have I done?”  
He stumbles back from her, releasing his fingers from her arm as though she were a venomous snake. Yet, which of them is the snake, he wonders? If he were not guilty before he is now. He truly is the worst kind of trash, fallen lower than he had ever thought himself capable of doing.   
_Brother, forgive me,_ he thinks weakly.  
The words themselves have little hope in them. What he’s done is unforgivable. 

“You kissed me back,” she answers him, quietly glowing with smug pride. It wasn’t him falling into bed with her as she’d hoped for at the start of this farce, but given Tobirama’s state it’s quite the accomplishment. To make him kiss her when he was still raving about that pretence of a kiss of the previous week - looks like she sank her claws deeper than she thought into his mind.   
Almost gently, she twists out of Tobirama’s grasp, broadcasting her movements, not wanting to make him lash out at her - he normally wouldn’t, but she doesn’t trust his fabled self-control, right now. She really, really would like another kiss, but she knows better than approaching again an unstable ninja.

“I’ve betrayed my own brother,” he says, voice deadly quiet. “We both have.”  
Where before he had felt full to bursting of anger and anxiety, now he feels empty. He feels as though his chest were hollow, his heart torn out to bleed on the floor by his very own hands. Ice runs through his veins and he feels brittle, worn.   
He finds, however, that he has just one last bit of fire within him.  
Mito raises both eyebrows when he snaps himself straight and suddenly storms forward, shoving the entirety of himself right up in her face with an accusing finger pointed right between her eyes.   
“I hope, Mito, that you enjoy whatever bed you find yourself in for the next two weeks because you may rest assured that the moment my brother sets foot back in this village I _will_ be speaking with him. I _will not_ betray him like this. I _will not_ be so disloyal to a man who has given me everything I have ever asked of him and more. He will hear the truth of this from me and I will gladly accept whatever punishment he rests upon my head - and I hope you are ready to bear the same.”  
With those words he turns, unable to stand looking at her for another moment more. Partially it is the cold anger that still burns in the back of his mind. Mostly it is the self-disgust that her visage causes within him, the utter hatred he suddenly has for himself. He is unworthy to call Hashirama his brother, unworthy to bear the name Senju, unworthy to ever call himself a good man again.   
(And still, _still,_ he wants her. Still he wished he had only just met her first, that he could have her for his own and please her in all the ways she obviously needs him to. In one respect he is thankful to her: he is thankful that she opened his eyes to the kind of man he never knew he was. It’s a horrible truth, but Tobirama has always believed in facing the truths of oneself head on.)

Tobirama turns and all but flees, heading out of the kitchen. From where she stands, Mito can see him crossing the hallway in a few long strides then almost wrench the entrance door off its hinges in his haste to leave.  
He doesn’t look back.  
The door slams closed, and Mito sighs, as if freed from a Nara’s shadow manipulation.  
She returns to the counter, picking up her cider. It’s still warm. The confrontation didn’t last that long, but it feels like everything changed.  
She moves to the window, sipping her drink. She can see the road unwinding between the Senju houses, but there is no trace of Tobirama.  
He likely hiraishin’d right home, or at the very least took to the rooftops. Of course she can’t see him. Given his emotional turmoil, he’s likely in a terrible hurry to hole himself up in his safe haven.  
The Uzumaki turns her back to the window.  
_‘I’ve betrayed my brother. We both have.’_  
“Not at all, Tobirama. Not at all.” Her words ring empty in her empty house.  
She’s coming down from the adrenaline of facing down a possible fight, and she feels unsettled. Mito can still taste Tobirama on her lips, on her tongue, and it’s like fire in her mouth when the rest of her feels chilly.  
She doesn’t want to stay home. She organized her day and her chores so that she would have the afternoon for herself, to spend at home in peace, but suddenly she doesn’t want it anymore. Instead she goes to her closet, putting on warmer clothes. She’ll go to the Naka waterfall, the closest thing she has here in Konoha to the sea she grew up with. Water reassures her, the power, the immensity of it.  
It’s probably why she grew to like Tobirama to begin with.  
Shaking her head at herself, Mito leaves her pretty, cozy home, searching for the comfort she couldn’t find in the arms of the man she wants.


	7. The Queen That Knelt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vanity brought her down. Now Mito has to defy her arrogance and face Tobirama.  
> Tobirama is hurting so much he doesn't know what to do anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Mito in this chapter was heavily influenced by Green Day's ["Viva la Gloria (Little girl)"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6aQ4p7f3PVI).  
>  _"Little girl, little girl, why are you crying?_  
>  _Inside your restless soul your heart is dying_  
>  _Little one, little one, your soul is purging_  
>  _Of love and razor blades your blood is surging_
> 
> _Run away_   
>  _From the river to the street and find yourself with your face in the gutter_   
>  _You're a stray for the salvation army_   
>  _There is no place like home when you got no place to go"_

Mito: Holly  
Tobirama: Rae

Tobirama has always been a very organized person - yet even he has never seen his office quite this tidy. He’s been here for hours, entirely unable to focus on the papers in front of him, and when his mind drifts while he’s working he has a tendency to tidy things, to clean something. He’s gotten very little paperwork done but his desk and the surrounding area are so clean they nearly sparkle.  
Somehow this only worsens his mood, to see the results of his unproductivity. For perhaps the third time in a single hour he drops his face into his hands and scrubs at the hint of stubble coming in on his cheeks. He’d meant to shave when he got up but he had rolled out of bed at four in the morning after getting only three hours of sleep and thought the better of shaving with his slightly shaking hands.  
In the full week since he had last seen Mito he hasn’t managed to have a single decent night’s sleep. The moment he lets his guard down even the tiniest bit she creeps into his thoughts, bringing with her every overwhelming emotion he still hasn’t been able to deal with. Even with so many days to go over things from each possible angle he still can’t decide if he is more angry with her or with himself, for several reasons.  
Mito might have been the one to start this whole mess. It was her that flirted and teased and stood too close. It was her that kissed him. But it was him that kissed her back knowing full well how wrong it was. He’d known what was happening and still he gave in. Can he honestly say his wrongdoing was any less than her own?  
Tobirama is used to trusting his instincts and his instincts have always told him that Mito is a good person, so very much like himself and yet just different enough that they would never grow bored of each other. It’s almost more than he can wrap his head around to see her exposed as so different from what he thought. How could he possibly have gotten her so wrong? Is she so truly so deceptive? Or has he simply been willfully blind? Nothing of this, however, could possibly drown him in guilt as much as that which he fears to say out loud. That which he has finally come to understand and only barely managed to admit in the silence of his own mind.  
Tobirama is angry because he loves Mito. He is in love with the fire-haired temptress and her betrayal of his brother wounds both Hashirama and himself on such personal levels that the very thought of what she has done steals the breath from his lungs even now. 

_“You're a proud girl. Maybe too much. Just like your father.”_  
_“But mom, you're every bit as proud as him.”_  
_“I am, but on the contrary of him, I'm smart. His pride knows no bounds, and more than once threatened to be his downfall.”_  
_“And you?”_  
_“I know my limits, my little koi. Assess your strengths and your weaknesses. Anyone who says that people's judgement doesn't matter is an idiot. You will have to prove yourself - both to yourself and to others. But always keep this in mind: no matter how good you are, there will always be someone better than you. Always. Never count your fish before you've pulled up the net.”_  
Mito wonders what her mother would have to say now. Probably nothing complimentary.  
Mito spent the evening at the Akimichi household, for her friend Rei worried she might feel alone with her husband away. Mito ate a lot of good food, drank good sake, chatted and laughed when appropriate, but her heart wasn't in it. Standing in the middle of the road, the darkness of the night in front of her and the cheerful brightness of the Akimichi behind her, Mito can feel her smile slide off her face.  
She’s been thinking a lot about her mother, in the past week. How would Uzumaki Akahane have handled her situation?   
Surely she would have been smarter than her daughter and wouldn't have been caught up in this impasse.  
The Uzumaki sighs, rubbing the bridge of her nose. No matter how busy she keeps herself, her thoughts always go back to Tobirama. Mito has never been one for lying to oneself, and now her brain is being less than charitable with her.  
She fucked up.  
She was arrogant, thinking she knew best, thinking she had everything under control.  
(Looks like she really takes after her father, and the thought leaves a bitter taste in her mouth.)  
She thought she knew Tobirama, thought she had him figured out enough to play him.  
Strong in the knowledge that Hashirama approved of her actions, she had downplayed it, treating it as if she were seducing a normal person, as if it were a lipstick mission.  
She wasn't. Stupidly, arrogantly, she underestimated that, to Tobirama, she was pitting brother against brother. Despite Tobirama's complaints about it since the very first kiss, it took Mito a disgracefully long time to _get it_.  
She _knew_ how close the brothers are, she knew it perfectly - much closer than she ever was to her own siblings, at any point. And yet, she refused to see what it would mean for Tobirama.

Tobirama breathes slowly through the ball of pain in his chest, eyes closed as though he can ignore the world and make all his problems go away if he just hides here in the darkness of his office.  
How can he possibly be in love with his own brother’s wife? When did it happen? How could he have _let_ it happen? As if his actions alone aren’t bad enough on their own, his emotions have evidently seen fit to cast aside all loyalties as well. Hashirama is a forgiving man but Tobirama wonders if even he can forgive these indiscretions. The only way he could possibly sink lower would be to give in, to go behind the older man’s back and partake of the affair Mito admitted to wanting from him.  
Even the thought of it fills his mouth with the taste of iron and bile. He’s never had mercy or sympathy for the people who find themselves in the situation he now finds himself. He’s always considered them disgusting, vile, unworthy creatures. As second heir of his clan he has had to sit in judgment of such wrongdoers in the past and _oh_ how he wants to sit in judgment over his own trial right now. How he wants to bring the laws of custom and social judgment crashing down over his own head.  
Tobirama believes in justice, he always has. No matter how much he fears his brother’s reaction he knows it’s only right that he face the justice he thinks he deserves.  
Not to say that it will make up for anything, however. If there is a way to atone for the sins he has committed then he wishes he knew it - would already have thrown himself headlong into it.  
Instead he sits here at his desk and burns in the fire he built around himself. He burns with guilt and burns with desire and he hates hates hates every moment of both. His eyes have been burned with the image of a woman he coveted yet never should belong to him. His hands burn with the memory of her skin. His tongue burns with her lingering taste. Appropriate from a woman made of fire.  
With a sigh, Tobirama pulls the sheaf of documents he was supposed to be working on back towards himself. A man can only burn for so long before he is left as nothing but ash and embers but the least he can do is attempt to be useful while the flames consume him. There is a very good possibility his brother will never wish to see him again. If he is asked to leave then he will want to accomplish as much as he can before he goes.  
Cloud-headed dreamer Hashirama has never been good at paperwork. He’ll need to find someone else to help him if Tobirama is gone and the pale man feels that it is the least he can do to finish what he can before that happens.  
Alright, he’ll admit he’s being a bit over-dramatic. Perhaps a lot over-dramatic. He needs something to focus on nonetheless. Banishment has never been Hashirama’s style; he has always believed in second chances and seeing the best in people. But then, he’s never been betrayed so deeply by someone so close before. All their lives the Senju brothers have been a pair, a partnership, relying on each other even when it seems like they can rely on no one else.  
Whatever evils he has committed before, whatever evils he will commit in the future, the knowledge festers that betraying that bond will always be the worst thing he ever does. 

Behind her, she can hear cheerful laughing and the happy squeals of children coming from the Akimichi house. In front of her, a paved road unrolls in the darkness like the tongue of some eldritch monster.  
She doesn't want to go home to her empty house. It's not the first time Hashirama has left Konoha since their wedding, but it's the first time the silence has grated so much on her.  
And yet, it's not like she has anywhere else to be. She already overstayed her welcome at Rei’s place, and she can't come this late at Yuuka’s. She could camp out at the waterfall, sure - but again, it would be alone, and the weather is too cold to make it pleasant.   
(She doesn't dare to approach Touka, not now.)  
Reluctantly, she heads towards the Senju compound. Her feet take her on the long route, as if trying to postpone the inevitable.   
She passes by Tobirama's house. Out of habit, she looks to see if any light is still on - but no, it's cold and dark. Even if it weren't, it's not like Mito could knock at his door for companionship. Not when he's that angry with her.  
With good reason.  
Because as much as Mito tries to tell herself that it didn't occur to her how much she was hurting him, the more honest part of her whispers that maybe she knew it perfectly well. Despite her manners, despite her grace and her poise, Mito isn't a good person - few ninja are. All shinobi have to be a bit selfish, a bit mean to survive. Mito's streak is not larger than others - it's just hidden a bit better, a wasp pretending to be a butterfly.  
A part of her, deeply buried, knew she was hurting Tobirama by trying to make him go behind his brother's back. She knew, and she didn't care. In her arrogance, in her _vanity_ , she thought it the perfect test to her beauty, to her seduction skills: would she be able to overcome Tobirama's love for his brother? Would he betray Hashirama for her? Surely there could be no greater glory than that.  
Oh, she didn't do it on purpose. She didn't start out with such a thought in the forefront of her mind. But arrogance has a way of sneaking up on you, of clouding your vision, and selfishness has a way to make other people's needs seem irrelevant.   
The words Tobirama almost screamed at her on their last meeting made her furious - of course she knew what she was doing! - but later they made her think that maybe she didn't. That maybe she did make a mistake.  
Her mom was right - Mito let her arrogance, her need to prove herself, her vanity, take the better of her.  
Shame is not something Mito is acquainted with. Shame makes her feel sick, makes her restless, makes her hesitant. She prefers carrying her mistakes with her than dealing with guilt, wrapping herself in denial.  
Not only was Mito wrong, but she also hurt someone she loves.  
She did _not_ know better than him, she was _not_ right in her assessment of the man - and she wasn't able to sway Tobirama to her side. She wasn't pretty enough, she wasn't good enough at seducing him. That's a hard pill to swallow, for someone who had been _sure_ that Senju Tobirama would fall into her bed before the end of the month. Mito took it for granted, like it was her due.  
She was wrong, wrong, wrong, overestimating herself and underestimating Tobirama.   
She was wrong, and she hadn't cared that she hurt Tobirama again and again, making him think he was committing what in his eyes is the worst of crimes: betraying his brother.  
Mito knows Tobirama, knows he's surely beating himself up about it. She hasn't seen him from that fatidic last kiss, but she's ready to bet he's been working non stop, eating and sleeping too little. She knows he's likely taking most of the blame upon himself, selfless martyr that he is, even if it's all her fault.  
The dark, empty windows of Tobirama's house stare at her like the judging eyes of a blind giant, daring her to come closer, you worthless woman.  
She should go home before she catches a cold.  
(She should seek out Tobirama before it's too late.)  
(But that would mean acknowledging her mistakes out loud, would mean debasing herself. It would mean accepting that she's not who she thought she was.)  
(She should apologize, explain, admit she did wrong, and stop Tobirama from hurting himself more.)  
Torn, Mito stands still like a statue, her eyes still fixed on her friend's empty house. 

Two of the five candles he lit have burned out, leaving the room patchy with shadows. The papers in front of him are only half visible if he sits up straight in his chair. Luckily for his eyes, he hasn’t been sitting up straight for quite some time. His shoulders hunch inwards and his back is bowed, head hanging low as he stares at the contents of the folder he has just flipped open.  
He should go home. He’s been here since noon, hasn’t eaten since yesterday, and the longer he forces himself to soldier on, the less he finds himself able to concentrate properly. He’s getting very little done by this point. It would be best if he went home and sought a good meal then a good sleep. And he would, really, if he thought he could stomach anything or if he didn’t know that going to bed would only result in lying still and staring vacantly at the ceiling.  
That’s not really what’s keeping him here, though. Tobirama knows very well what is keeping him sat at his desk in the Hokage Tower long past the point when all the rest of the village is safely at home, many already having found their pillows: cowardice.  
To get home he would have to walk past Hashirama’s home, past the house that his brother built with his own jutsu to live there with his wife. He doesn’t want to see if the walkway lights have been left on to call her home. He can feel her chakra elsewhere and he doesn’t want to wonder whether it’s only a friendly visit or the kind that lasts the night.  
(Doesn’t want to feel the twinge of jealousy in his stomach when he thinks about it.)  
So here he sits, half of his face resting tiredly on the palm of one hand. His uncovered eye tracks over the words in front of him and read the same paragraphs for the fourth time, still not retaining a single word by the end. His gaze goes back to the top of the page listlessly to start again. Something about the state of the crops? Possibly the last shipment of textiles? He’s not sure.  
The thought of textiles makes him close his other eye with a groan. A rather lovely silver kimono had been delivered to him only two days ago, arriving in an innocuous cardboard box directly from the shop itself. He’d taken one look at the garment, turned, and vomited in the sink. The memory rushes back to him now, bringing with it the memory of how beautiful Mito had looked in her own choice of formal clothing.  
A second groan escapes him. He doesn’t want to think of how beautiful she is. He doesn’t want to relive that flash of a mental image of how she would look with that kimono gaping and her hair falling down around her.  
‘Kami’, he thinks, ‘can I not go five minutes without shaming myself?’  
Were he another man he thinks he might have tried to drown himself in alcohol by this point but there are a number of things that could go wrong with that.  
First of all, he’s already physically ill every time he so much as thinks about what happened, there’s no need to add a hangover on top of it. Second of all, the thought of what he might do once he gets deep in his cups is not a little worrisome. Having felt safe enough in his surroundings to get truly drunk only two times before in his life, Tobirama doesn’t really know what to expect of his behaviour in that case.  
Would he weep into his cups like he’s seen others do? Embarrassing. Become violent and destructive? He’s a very powerful man, unleashing himself upon the village like that doesn’t seem like a safe idea. The worst option of all: would he give in? Wake up the next morning to find himself unclothed in Mito’s bed? ( _Hashirama’s_ bed.)  
It’s a damn good thing, he muses, that he’s not the type to turn to alcohol. His self-destructive behavior of choice is working until he drops from exhaustion. It’s useful, at the very least, even if it fails to distract him now from the guilty thoughts running on repeat through his tired mind.

Unbidden, rises the memory of her kiss with Tobirama. Not the two she stole from him, but the first one, the one she gave him in the very house she's facing.  
Mito remembers Tobirama asleep in his bed, remembers carding her fingers through his soft white hair, remembers folding his broken arm more comfortably to prevent any hurt. She remembers smoothing out his eyebrows, for once not furrowed, remembers brushing the pad of her thumb over the arch of his nose and down the slashes on his cheeks, marveling at the hardiness of her friend.  
Mito remembers the softness of Tobirama's face in the relaxation of sleep, remembers the dark bags under his eyes. She remembers wanting to protect him, wanting to hide him away from any hurt, wanting for him to be happy.  
How did she go from wanting to protect him to hurting him? Worse, how did she go from wanting to protect him to _not caring_ about how much she was hurting him?  
Guilt and shame fester in her, making her feel sick and sad.  
In the distance, over the treetops, Mito can just about see the Admin building, its tower a dark shape against the star-dotted canopy of the night sky, the almost-full moon throwing its outline in stark relief.  
From there, she can see but three windows alight - the beating heart of Konoha never truly sleeps, not when there are always ninja that need to check in after a mission.   
(Not when there is always the risk - however slim - of an attack. Centuries of war are not shrugged off in the span of a year, and old habits and fears die hard.)  
Mito knows that Tobirama must be behind one of those windows, still working despite the late hour.  
The thought of her friend hurting, of him hurting himself out of his skewered sense of justice, makes her ill. She wonders when was the last time he ate decently, the last time he had a full night of sleep.  
(She knows him. Not as much as she deluded herself into believing, but he still is her best friend.)  
Mito makes a decision and firmly heads towards Admin. She will tell him of the deal she made with Hashirama, tell him he did nothing wrong, that his brother will still love him.  
The cold night makes her shiver in her jacket, wishing she had a scarf, but it helps her clear her mind, get a grip on herself, so that when she finally enters the Admin building, she's once again in control of herself.  
A young kunoichi from the Shiranui Clan got stuck with the graveyard shifts, and she perks up at Mito's entrance, obviously eager for a distraction. “Good evening, Mito-sama! What brings you here at this hour?”  
Mito musters a gentle smile for her, nodding her head politely. “I'm looking for Tobirama-san.”  
It almost embarasses her that she doesn't know in which office to find him, but the reason she managed to avoid him for a whole week is because she avoided Admin like the plague, so she's dreadfully not up to date.  
The girl’s eyes go wide and she jumps up, relief written in plain lines on her face. “Are you here to get him home? He's been here day and night all week! He barely leaves! He looks like he's about to collapse!”  
It takes effort not to let her lips pull into a grimace, disappointed but also resigned. “Yes. Where is he?”  
The Shiranui kunoichi is more than eager to help her, guiding her up a staircase and down twisting hallways - not his usual office, then. “We tried to get him to leave, but he just ignores us! He doesn't even leave to get food. We discovered that if we leave food right in front of him he will eat it, though, so we managed to feed him somewhat. But, Mito-sama…” the girl stops in front if a door, hesitating. “I don't think he's well.”  
The comforting smile she gives the girl - she's what, fourteen? - feels stiff and false, but that's all she can give her right now. “I'll see what I can do. Go back to your post.”  
The Shiranui kunoichi knows her place and gets the veiled order in her words, so she bows and disappears. Alone in the hallway, Mito looks at the unassuming door for a long moment before knocking. She knows Tobirama is likely aware that she's there, but - well, she wants to give him the chance to refuse to see her. It feels like she owes him that much.

He can feel her there. Of course he can; he tracks her chakra at all times just the same as he always has. He’s been peripherally aware of her coming closer to him since she left the Senju district, curious as to why she was leaving home again so late at night yet forcing himself not to speculate. He’d hoped she wasn’t coming to see him because the closer she comes the harder it is to breathe. Now she’s standing right outside the door and he feels like his throat might close itself off entirely.  
For a short stretch of time she simply stands there and Tobirama closes his eyes, praying to every god he can think of that she will change her mind, turn around and simply leave him in peace.  
The quiet rap of knuckles on wood makes him flinch, drawing in a shaky breath. He should send her away - wants to send her away almost as much as he wants her to stay - but the shinobi in him won’t allow it. With Hashirama gone from the village, many turn to him as the second in charge. There’s as good a chance that she has some late night bad news as there is that all she wants is to flaunt herself in front of him again.  
It takes almost a full minute before he can work his throat open enough to call a very quiet, “Come in.”  
The moment he sees the door handle turn he regrets it. He knows exactly what he looks like right now: tired, exhausted, beaten down. He looks like a man awaiting the blade about to fall upon his neck. She had played her little game and she had _won_ it, and he knows she’ll be able to see her victory written all over his hunched, bent body.  
He finds that he cannot look at her, lowering his eyes back to his work instead and remaining silent as she steps into the room.  
Whatever it is she has come for, he’ll allow her to speak her piece before asking her to leave. 

Tobirama looks like shit. It’s not the first time he holes himself up somewhere and works nonstop, but it’s the first time Hashirama, Mito or Touka didn’t come pick him up bodily after two days of this idiocy. After a week of abusing himself his skin is more grey than white, his eyes dull, the bags under his eyes deep and dark, white stubble on his cheeks and chin. But more than that, what hits her the worst is the tiredness and defeat seeping off of him, his shoulders hunched forward, his head bowed.   
He looks like a broken man, and Mito was the one who carelessly set him on this road of self-destruction.  
“Hey,” she says, her voice soft in the barely-lit room. She takes a step, then stops, unsure. “You look terrible. The kid told me you’ve been here too much. You should go home, Tobirama.” Wow, very diplomatic Mito. My compliments. Way not to set him off.  
Never before have her words felt so stilted, never before has she been feeling so off-kilter. 

The sheer ridiculousness of her statement has him pinching the bridge of his nose and blinking owlishly at the empty air before him. Is she trying to care for him? Now? If he weren’t in such a poor state he might actually laugh right in her face. As it is, he’s not sure he could look at her at the moment without burning from the inside out with fresh waves of guilt.  
“Did you have a purpose for coming here?” he asks. His voice lacks the bite it should have, the snap and edge of anger that he’s simply too weary to dredge up. He is angry, at her almost as much as himself, but he hasn’t the energy to do anything with that anger right now and it makes him sound small, the patchy shadows of the room almost seeming to swallow his voice.  
He wants to ask ‘what do you want’ but he’s too afraid of the answer.  
Too afraid that he will give it to her, no matter what it is.

Of all things, it’s his voice that makes her cringe. He looks bad, but his voice, his voice is worse - it’s uneven, low, almost on the verge of cracking. The timbre is his, but it’s not Tobirama’s voice. It belongs to a ghost, and Mito grits her teeth against the irrational desire to ask him to _do something_ about it.   
Control. Control over yourself brings you control over your surroundings. One of them needs to, since Tobirama obviously isn’t going to.  
__I want you to stop hurting yourself over something that’s not your fault.  
Yes, because that would go so very well.  
“You didn’t betray Hashirama. He knows I was looking for a lover, and he knew it was you I was going to go after.” She keeps to the facts, trying to tell him everything before he can interrupt her and make a worse mess of this than it already is.  
“He won't hate you, because he knows and gave his permission.” It sounds wrong for her to admit she needed anyone's _permission_ , but that's what it would be for Tobirama, right? A husband giving his wife leave to fulfil her desires. Back then when she had that conversation with Hashirama, Mito thought she didn’t need anyone’s permission, that she would take what she wanted because she _could_. Look where it got her.  
“Hashirama is gay. When I discovered it, I asked to be allowed to find a discreet lover to…” How to put it in a way that wouldn’t make Tobirama think ill of her - more than he already does? “Hashirama hardly ever touched me. I was tired of it. I wanted something like I was used to back home.” It sounds like a whine to her own ears, and she backs up, frustrated with herself. How to explain the easy happiness of sex to someone who doesn’t do casual sex? How to make Tobirama understand what she was missing so fiercely?  
“He also needs heirs, but it… Didn’t work well, as you can imagine. It would have been two birds with a stone.”

 __“I need to sit down,” he says faintly. Mito looks at him with confusion.  
“You’re already-”  
“That’s a lot to take in.” He cuts right through her sentence, barely hearing it. He doesn’t hear much of anything other than a faint buzzing noise in the back of his head.  
Both of his hands come up to press against his face, slowly dragging downwards. The skin of his palms catches on the stubble he’d barely acknowledged was there and he ends up sort of holding his own face with too-wide eyes peering over the top of his fingers. He probably looks more than a little deranged.  
He feels deranged. What the hell is he supposed to react to first? For lack of a better idea, he tries to orders things chronologically in his mind.  
“Do you mean to tell me,” he murmurs, finally moving his hands, “that my brother has always known that he is gay and never saw fit to mention it? To anyone? Did he not trust m- nevermind. Don’t answer that. Of course he wouldn’t trust me, and for good reason. He’s smarter than he looks.”  
The information she’s dumped on him and his own perceptions of the events that have been happening recently are mixing together in his head in a giant knot of confusion. He feels what he did was wrong yet she says it wasn’t. Which is correct? Can it be possible that both are correct?  
“Did he only just realize it or has he truly always known and said nothing?”  
It stings that Hashirama would keep something like this from him. Does he think Tobirama will judge him? Stop loving him? At the same time the feeling that he has betrayed his brother is still fresh and he can’t exactly blame the older man. 

__ Mito is glad beyond words that Tobirama focused on the issue of his brother being gay. She hesitates, though - she wants to soothe Tobirama, wants him to stop hurting. Her words distracted him from her, but didn’t do much for the state of his sanity. What should she do? She’s torn between wanting to tweak the truth to erase that grimace off his face and telling him all the truth. She wants to make him feel better, but she just came to apologize about not telling the truth and she doesn't know what to do.  
“You will have to ask him yourself,” she ends up saying. “I believe he didn't want you to think any less of him. That you already have too many responsibilities and wanted to spare you having to protect this secret as well.” She hesitates. Should she mention Madara?   
No, Hashirama asked her not to. She’s been ignoring the wishes of her loved ones too much recently. “He's very aware that if anyone caught wind he's gay, the backlash could threaten all you two built.” Every single choice Hashirama made would be put into discussion, all the Clans in Konoha would fight like wolves to tear him down from his throne, clawing for the crown.  
“He told me he never had a lover. I think… I think it was easier for him to pretend nothing was amiss. Telling you would make it real.”

 __“Right…” There isn’t much he can say to that.  
Well, that’s not really true. There’s a lot of things he can say to that but none of them are things that should be said to her. He’s going to have a very _very_ long talk with Hashirama about this. Maybe. If he doesn’t drown himself first, which is honestly looking like a very attractive option at the moment. He’s already drowning in confusion, what’s the harm in taking it one step further?  
Extended sleep deprivation, it seems, makes him tends towards dramatics.  
Alright, he thinks, that was the first question answered. It only gave him more questions in its place but it _did_ get answered. Chronologically, he reminds himself. What comes next in this basket of madness that she’s unloaded on him?  
“So...being gay...he doesn’t - that is to say, you two don’t...I see.”  
Tobirama closes his eyes and breathes deeply, trying to order his thoughts well enough to get a full sentence out without sounding like a skipping record.  
“You wished to take a lover because of his obvious lack of...enthusiasm...for that particular activity.”  
Now that is information he definitely did not need mental images for.

 __ There are many answers she could give to that statement, many of which would make no sense to Tobirama. “Yes,” she eventually nods, daring to come one step closer to the desk. “Sex was awkward and unsatisfying for both of us - and this on the rare times we actually _got on_ with it and didn’t get frustrated with each other, calling everything off in favour of sleep.”   
She shrugs, as if the topic didn’t affect her, but she doesn’t think she’s cutting a convincing figure. Must be the way she’s gripping the hem of her jacket’s sleeves. “I like sex, and our marriage contract requires an heir before the two years mark. In the face of Hashirama’s confession, neither looked likely.”  
Thing is, Mito doesn’t settle. Mito doesn’t do _compromises_. If something isn’t good, if something doesn’t work, she doesn’t just sigh and learn to live around it - she strives to change it, to make it better.

 __His mind very purposefully skitters over the thought of his brother in conjunction with ‘very awkward and unsatisfying sex’, forcefully plowing on to the next point. He pictures it all like a time line, nice and neat and tidy just the way he likes things to be; simple.  
(The situation isn’t simple but it’s how he likes to think and he so very much just wants to crawl back into his comfort zone any way he can.)  
“You said Hashirama knew that you wanted to take a lover? And that he was okay with it? I suppose that does sound like him, encouraging someone else to be happy even if he can’t be himself.”  
His brother is selfless to a fault and, as strange as it is, this is the part that’s easiest for him to believe. If Hashirama is unable to satisfy this need of Mito’s then Tobirama has no doubt that he would encourage her to seek her pleasures elsewhere.  
He can feel his heart calming as he talks himself through each new revelation. Pieces of a puzzle he hadn’t even known existed are falling into place and so many things make so much more sense all of a sudden. He doesn’t quite feel better about it all yet. He can’t turn his feelings around quite that fast. But he feels just that _little_ bit better, enough that he no longer feels like he is standing in the middle of a fire, burning from the inside out.  
If he had to compare it to something he would almost say he feels similar to the way he does when he can’t tell whether or not an experiment has gone wrong. He is nervous, anxious, full of aimless dread, but the world is no longer _ending_ the way it’s felt like for the past several days.  
It feels nice to be able to breathe again.

 __ Hashirama will never be able to be happy if he doesn’t let go of Madara, that much is clear to Mito.  
She thinks it’s clear to Hashirama too. That’s probably what makes it so sad. He loves the Uchiha, has been loving him for a decade, even if he knows he has no chance. From time to time, special people arise among other human beings, who seem to exude love as naturally as the sun gives out heat. Hashirama’s heart is so big it bleeds love, and just doesn’t know how not to.  
“Being forced to have sex made both of us miserable. This way, I could find my pleasure elsewhere - but Hashirama too would be spared from having to lie with a woman. I hoped he would feel free to pursue a lover of his own, find some happiness.” She sighs. “He didn’t.” Because all he wants is Madara, and he can’t have him. “He doesn’t dare reaching out for fear of people discovering his secret.” For political reason, but also because Hashirama is so, so very scared that Tobirama and Madara would reject him in light of his sexual preference. He doesn’t want to risk it.

 __“I see.”  
He’s not going to say it to her, but that makes him feel slightly better as well. That her motivations included Hashirama’s happiness even in just a small way says that he didn’t misjudge her as much as he’d thought he had. She _does_ care for her husband. She _did_ try to make her marriage work the way she’d thought it was supposed to.  
She can’t be blamed, he supposes, if the man she chose to bind herself to turned out to be only attracted to people of the same gender. Tobirama will admit that he had forgotten about the requirement of a child in their marriage contract. If creating one is so difficult for Hashirama, Mito’s attempts to produce one by others means can be held in a very different light.  
His entire body goes still.  
“You chose me,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “You wanted my child.”  
And _oh_ but the burning is back. Not because he feels he’s done something wrong this time, not because he feels betrayed, but because he feels _used._ He understands now what all of this is about, what has been on her mind from the day she sparred with him and he first realized she wanted something from him. She wants his child to present it to the world as Hashirama’s get.  
It isn’t that he would mind; he would give his brother anything, even this if he asked.  
What hurts is the love he has only just discovered. It hurts because he is _in love_ with Mito and here she is telling him that she wants him only for the child that he can give her.  
“And Hashirama approved of this?” his voice sounds a little hoarse but he hopes that his face does not show the hurt that so suddenly ripped through him. She has already won so much from him in this strange game. He doesn’t want her to know that she’s won this too, this small, cold heart she hadn’t even been hunting.

 __ She nods. “He did. He agreed you were a good choice.” Tobirama is the _best_ choice, one Mito knows not many women get to have. Not only can she trust him with Hashirama’s secret, knowing he’ll be discreet, but she loves him dearly, too. She would like to tie her life more deeply with his, share both a bed and parenthood.   
“You love kids. You’d be a great father.” His eyes are hollow, his lip worried almost to the point of blood. She’d thought that talking of children would make him brighten, would raise his mood - that he would be happy at the idea of having a child of his own. “You… Wouldn’t you like to have a child of your own?”   
Is he worried she’ll cut him off from his children, like Hashirama said? Is he jealous that the Village will think they belong to his brother? “They would be _your_ children, of course. Konoha will think Hashirama to be their father, but they will know you’re their dad. I would never rob you of that.” She really means it when she said that Tobirama would be the best dad. And children, children would be great for Tobirama.  
Sometimes Mito got the impression that all the work Tobirama put into creating Konoha and getting her running is kind of a borrowed task, as if making his brother’s dream real gives him purpose. She thinks he would be aimless without Hashirama, without this goal he set on himself. Children would root him, would give him a new reason to live for himself, rather than for his brother.  
(Mito is a kunoichi, daughter of a kunoichi. She knows that even if the war has ended, dangers will always lie in wait for any ninja. She knows that any children she could have with Senju Tobirama will have a higher chance to survive than those begat from any other man - that perhaps Mito won’t have to bury the fruits of her womb like her mother did with Mito’s youngest sister.)

 __For a moment it’s all Tobirama can do but sit still as the images come to him unbidden, helpless under the wave of want for what he sees in his mind. Mito next to him with his child on her hip. Little Senju children wearing his own features, smiling and laughing and happy. A tiny voice calling him Papa.  
He wants it. He wants it more than she can possibly imagine and he always has. Tobirama loves children, has always dreamed of having his own, and her offer is like a dream wrapped up inside of a nightmare. To have a child with the woman he loves and yet not to have her love in return?  
Instead of answering her questions - because he is honestly not sure how to word even a fragment of his reply - he glosses over all talk of children in favor of the only point he has left to bring up.  
“I only have one more question, and then I want you to leave.” He can see that his bluntness startles her, that she wasn’t expecting him to say that, and he doesn’t care. Not when his next words are twice as blunt, almost harsh.  
“How can I trust you? Isn’t it wonderful of you to come to me with a pretty little explanation for everything? All wrapped up in a tidy little bow. How exactly am I meant to take you at your word right now?”  
He wants to trust her. (Doesn’t want to admit that deep down he still does.) Still, he would feel much more comfortable to hear all of this from Hashirama instead. He wants confirmation before deciding what the hell he’s going to do with all of this information.

 __ She swallows. It was foolish of her to hope she could get out of this without apologizing, thinking that simply telling the whole truth would make Tobirama forgive her, make them go back to what they were.  
“You don’t,” she says, and kami, does it burn admitting he’s right not to trust her, that she lost that privilege. “Wait for Hashirama to come home. Talk to him. Settle this.”  
Mito tears her eyes away from the exhausted man behind the desk, her grey eyes sweeping over the room - the bookshelves, the cabinets brimming with documents, the stained carpet, the window overlooking the sleeping village. She can see the moon from where she stands, framed like a picture by the wooden panels of the window. It’s full all but a sliver, looking uneven, unsteady. She feels much like that.  
“I’m sorry,” she whispers, cheeks burning with shame the way they haven’t since she was a little girl. She swallows again, her mouth dry like paper, and her stomach roils. She thinks she might not be hungry ever again, so sick she feels. “I’m sorry I hurt you.” Even as she apologizes, deep inside of her she silently begs Tobirama to just accept her words and let her go. She doesn’t want to elaborate, it’s too humiliating, even if the rational part of her knows she deserves it. She’s not like Tobirama, who wears his sins like a shroud.  
“Forgive me.”

 __His body wants to curl around her, to protect her from the hurt that is so obvious on her face and in her body language. His heart wants to reach out and say _yes, yes, of course_ because while he is a strong man, every human has their weaknesses; she is his. His mind, however, his mind screams and rails that _it’s not that easy._  
Tobirama has always been a mind-over-matter type of person. He’s had long practice ignoring what his heart wants in favor of what is needed and what is right.  
He waits in silence until at last she brings her eyes back to his, forcing his expression to stay as still and emotionless as he is capable of, before giving her his answer.  
“Leave.”  
Wanting is not getting. She wants his forgiveness and he wants to give it, but he cannot give what he does not have. He needs answers, clarifications, peace of mind. There’s no way he can possibly forgive her without them. 

__ His voice is not loud as much as cold, making Mito recoil as if slapped.   
Only that if he slapped her, at least she’d know how to react. This, this is something she doesn’t know how to handle.   
Tobirama told her to leave and she promised herself that she would heed his wishes even if they went against her will, because he deserved that much. But she has so much to tell - things she doesn't want to say, but she knows she must.  
Torn, she takes a step back, turning towards the door, but she keeps looking back at Tobirama, his face a mask of grey ice, his eyes like blood-soaked blades. She takes another step towards the door, but again she turns around, her mouth working uselessly. She wants to appease him, show him she can care for his opinion, but she also doesn’t think she’ll ever be able to tell him everything if she leaves this room, if she loses her courage.  
“I was arrogant,” she says, her eyes trained on the bookshelf, because she can’t make herself look up at him. Tobirama doesn’t know all of her, he knows the pretty guise she tries so hard to be - she doesn’t want to show him her ugly, dark side, doesn’t want him to think less of her.  
Though, she probably can’t get any lower than she already is, so she has no choice but talk.  
“Since I knew that Hashirama was alright with it, I didn’t stop to think that making you want me would make you feel that you were betraying your brother.”  
Talk as if you were talking of someone else, as if you were talking of a character in a book. She likes to analyze a character’s motivations with her friends, comparing insights. It’s just like that, only that this is real.  
Mito could stop here. That’s enough motivation behind her ‘I’m sorry’. She can leave, give Tobirama the time she needs to process this, time to talk with Hashirama and perhaps forgive her because he still likes her, right?  
But she was honest enough with herself to know that there’s an ugly oil stain much deeper than that and she could keep it for herself, try very hard not to think about it until she eventually forgets her shame because the human mind is so very good at forgetting the things we don’t like-  
“And when I did think of it, I didn't care. I- Hashirama didn’t want me and I missed being desired, so I wanted to seduce you to prove to myself that I still could, that I’m still pretty enough and good enough and-” Kami, she’s twenty eight year old and she sounds like she’s eighteen. An excuse and an apology in the very same breath, how disgraceful.  
“And it seemed like the perfect test, to see if I could be stronger than the loyalty you have for your brother and it was horrible of me and I’m so sorry. I was so selfish and I’m so _ashamed_.” Mito’s voice breaks as she admits the sin of her vanity, hunching her shoulders forward, hugging herself as if to defend herself against her faults and Tobirama’s judgement alike.  
At the very least Tobirama deserves to know that Mito is hurting too, even if it’s only a fraction of what he went through. A small, hidden part of her hopes that her pain will help Tobirama forgive her, that her shame and guilt will be seen as atonement.  
“Forgive me,” she repeats tiredly, her fingers digging deep into the fabric of her jacket. She kind of wishes she were like her sister, that she could cry with her same ease - Aya always seems to feel better after having cried, draining her negative emotions like lancing a boil.

 __The joints in his limbs creak with protest as he slowly heaves himself up from his chair, grinding open with the pain of sitting stationary for too many hours in a row. Tobirama ignores the insistent cries of his body as he slowly steps around his desk to where Mito stands, curling in upon herself in visible distress.  
The walls that came crumbling down at only a touch of this woman’s lips are building themselves back up again, brick by brick, blocking him off from the emotions that have been pulling him under ever since it happened. He feels like a lake slowly draining, more empty by the moment.  
She looks up when he places himself before her, watches him as he drags his eyes deliberately down her form and back up. Cold, he’s been called. Inhuman. He wonders how he looks to her now as he leans in to speak very quietly, his face only inches from hers.  
“Congratulations on your victory,” he says with as little emotion as possible. “I asked you to leave.” 

__ Mito has never felt so small in her life. Tobirama is a good head taller than her, and that close he feels like judge, jury and executioner. Against her will _(don’t look at him don’t don’t you don’t want to know)_ , her eyes travel up to his face, and she promptly regrets her action.   
The man in front of her doesn’t look like the Tobirama she knows, like her Tobirama. He looks cold and silent like an ice statue, cold and biting. There’s a storm of emotions in his eyes, ones she can’t read, but his words are flat, emotionless. Is it anger, is it sadness, is it hate, is it disgust? (Is it love?)  
The stark dichotomy between his eyes and his words scares her, making her take a step back.   
For the first time since this mess began, Mito is scared of Tobirama. Would her blood appease him? The person standing there is not her friend, but a ghost, a demon of countless battlefields.  
The step she took instinctively breaks the hold the Senju has on her, and she’s once again in control of her body. Straightening her posture like a ninja ready to flee, unwilling to attract an enemy’s attention, she backs up to the door.   
It takes all her self-control to muster a soft “goodnight” before she opens the door and slips out of it.  
A wooden door is nothing to a man the caliber of Senju Tobirama, and yet Mito feels better as soon as he’s out of sight. The band of iron around her chest relaxes and her lungs can once again expand fully.  
Swallowing her cowardice, Mito steels herself and strides down the hallway, away from the man who used to be her friend.  
Whoever said that confessing one’s sins makes you feel lighter was either a liar or a priest. Mito has never felt worse, has never been so disgusted with herself - simply telling him her faults didn’t lighten her guilt or shame any.

 __Tobirama follows her chakra with his senses as she leaves the tower, heading straight for home. All the while he stands completely still in the middle of his half lit office, his eyes absently following the dance of the shadows on the wall.  
His eyes close as his senses flex and stretch, reaching out past the boundaries of what he can see without trying and stretching themselves to their very limits. He passes over leagues of empty forest, small villages, and wandering patrols. Then - there! There he is, big brother Hashirama. Veins stand out on Tobirama’s forehead as he forces himself to stretch farther than he ever has before, all for a brief touch upon that warm bright chakra that has guided his entire life until now.  
Away in another country, Hashirama will not feel him. But it brings a measure of calm and comfort that Tobirama desperately needs at the moment. He needs to feel his center, his purpose. If Mito spoke truly then he does not need to fear losing that center but the fear lingers in him that she might not have.  
The moment his elder sets foot back in the village Tobirama will take him aside for a lengthy heart to heart. They have quite a lot to talk about, secrets on both sides that need facing. Until then, all he can do is wait and wonder while he sits behind the walls that keep him safe.  
No matter how bracing it is to feel Hashirama there with him, he is only able to hold that distance for perhaps fifteen seconds. When he releases the effort it’s as if his chakra comes slingshotting back to him with a force that nearly staggers his knees, leaving him gasping and swaying.  
If he had needed to go home before then it is absolutely vital now. If he doesn’t leave in this moment then he will not make it home before collapsing and sleeping off the exhaustion that now eats away at his very bones. And yet, as he turns for the door, he isn’t sure if it is his body or his heart that feels more tired.  
Tobirama brought a queen to her knees tonight.  
He didn’t like it. 


	8. Laid Bare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hashirama is disappointed in Mito. Mito thinks that makes two of them: she's disappointed in herself as well.

Mito: Holly  
Hashirama: Rae

  
  
  
Hashirama stays seated on the back porch long after his brother is gone, turning his empty tea mug around and around in his hands as he lets their conversation settle over him. He can’t remember the last time he heard Tobirama speak so much in a week, let alone the space of a few hours. They had...much to talk about.  
It’s a bigger relief than he anticipated to have the younger man finally know about his preferences. To know that he _accepts_ him, it’s such a large weight off of his chest that Hashirama felt at some points that he might float up into the sky. He hasn’t quite come up with the courage to mention Madara yet but he can hardly expect them to cover everything in one day - especially with so many other important topics to cover.  
Mito, it seems, has been busier than she has seen fit to share with him. Hashirama tries to be fair minded and he wants to wait to give his wife the chance to explain her side of the story. He wants to. But it’s difficult with the sparks of protective anger kindling inside and the heavy sadness left behind in the wake of his brother’s words.  
When Tobirama came to him he looked like all of the harsh words he has always been called: cold, unfeeling, empty, emotionless. It hurt to seem him in such a state and now it hurts to know why.   
A positive note, because he cannot help who he is and he will always search for the silver lining in any situation, is that Hashirama has not felt so close to his sibling since they buried Kawarama. They fight back to back and rely on each other for so much and yet he cannot think of the last time they truly talked. There’s been a gulf between the two of them throughout the years, shored up on both sides for various reasons, and he feels now as if they are finally closing the distance. It feels good.  
A sigh escapes him and he looks sideways, eyeing the teapot on the delicate table beside him. Should he pour another cup? No. No, it will only go cold in his hands and it can do that just as well sitting over there in the pot. Better to leave the cup empty and allow his fingers to continue their fidgeting while he waits for his esteemed life partner to return home.  
He needs to have words with her. No one puts his little brother in such a state and gets away without answering to him; not even his own wife.

Much to her displeasure, the meeting with the Kurama and Shimura Clans drags on and on. The two Clans have been traditional enemies almost as long as the Senju and the Uchiha have, and that means that at least once a week someone from the high council has to oversee their glorified squabbling. Hashirama was careful in placing them at the opposite sides of Konoha, and yet the two Clans _still_ manage to find any pretext to fight. At this point, they're doing it on purpose, dragging their enmity into this era of peace, and Mito is quickly losing her patience.  
Not only has she had to listen to the two Clan Heads arguing like children for four hours, recriminating things such as ‘this person from the other Clan chased one of my Clan’s cats’, but they're making her _late_.   
Hashirama was scheduled to come home by mid morning and Mito would have liked to greet him at the gates - but no, instead she's stuck here, settling idiotic disputes.  
Noon comes and goes before she finally manages to leave, much to her frustration. Sighing, she drags her hands down her face, closing her eyes to find solace from the headache battering at her temples.   
She's at the same time eager and dreadful to meet Hashirama. She missed him - she always does when he leaves - and cannot wait to sink into one of his bear hugs, disappear completely into him like a child into her father's arms.  
But fear and unease and guilt lie heavy in her throat, feeling like something she can't swallow.   
She's going to have to face Hashirama, face the brother of the man she hurt. Her confrontation with Tobirama is still fresh in her mind, as sharp and cutting as if it happened yesterday. How is she going to tell him? Apologizing to Tobirama was hard, but bearing the brunt of Hashirama’s anger and disappointment… she doesn't know if she can stand it. He values Hashirama’s opinion, he's one of the very few people she thinks is a truly good man. It's important for her that he thinks well of her, and it hurts to think that he won't anymore.  
When she walks up the stone path leading to her house, she finds her husband sitting on the porch, a mug in his hands.  
He looks up at her, his eyes dark and somber, his eyebrows furrowed, and Mito knows she won't have to open the topic herself.  
“Hello husband. Welcome home,” she greets him, coming up in front of him. With her standing up and him sitting in the porch, for once their eyes are level.  
Mito smiles, but she fears it's a thin, hesitant thing. She wants nothing more than hug him, than feel his warmth, but she feels like she doesn't have the right. “I take it you talked with Tobirama, didn't you?”

There are so many things he wants to say, so many questions he wants to ask, but he takes a moment first to look over her, this woman he is bound with for the rest of his life. If it is to be a peaceful life there can be no bad blood between them. This matter absolutely must be settled, and as quickly as possible. Not just for their own sake but for the clan and the village; they’re supposed to be the shining example, after all.   
Mito looks like he has never seen her before. She looks hesitant, almost scared. Some small part of him nods in petty approval; she hurt his brother, it is only right that she should hurt in return. It’s only a small part though. For all his prowess in battle Hashirama is a man built for love and while it might not be the way the world thinks he should he does love his wife very much. She did wrong, but he still shares in her pain as if it were his own.  
He does not respond to her question because the answer is obvious. No need to waste words saying something she obviously already knows. Instead, Hashirama takes a deep breath and says the very first thing that he wants her to know.  
“I’m disappointed in you, Mito.”  
Tobirama has always told him that his disappointment is a heavy thing to bear. Let Mito carry the weight of her own actions. 

She bows her head, acknowledging her faults, accepting her punishment. “I'm sorry.” She knows Hashirama, she knows he won't beat her, but his sadness and disapproval are enough.  
“Believe me, I'm disappointed in myself too,” she says, bitterness thick in her voice.

Mito is an extraordinarily proud woman. To see her bowed like this is jarring and strange. It feels wrong, even if he knows she deserves it.   
Hashirama allows a heavy sigh to escape him, turning the teacup in his hand over again and running his thumb along the edges just to have something to do. His instincts are telling him to go and hug her, to make her feel better, and he knows he’ll give in soon enough. Not yet though. Talk comes first.   
“What happened, Mito? It was my impression that you had already told him of our ‘arrangement’. Imagine my surprise when he met me outside the gate looking like an empty ghost, full of questions. Do you know, he made his confessions first? As if he’d done something wrong and were waiting for me to punish him.”  
He looked like he was awaiting the headsman’s axe. When he confessed to kissing Mito he had looked at Hashirama with such dread it had nearly reeled the older man back a few steps.  
All of Hashirama’s precious people seem to have fallen apart in his absence. Madara often calls him the glue that holds this village together but he’s never given the idea much merit until now. 

Mito grimaces, looking away - she doesn't need much imagination to picture the scene.  
“I had planned to.” She sits on the porch too, at two arm lengths from her husband. “I was pretty sure he wouldn't take me up on my offer if I just up and told him, so I decided to… Lure him a bit. Flirt with him just enough to make him interested, so that when I _would_ tell him, he would be in the right mind to accept.”  
She sighs, mindlessly playing with the glass baubles at the end of one of her hairpins, making them clink.  
“It was going well. Then when I had my chance to explain, I was stupid and didn't.” You're not talking about yourself, Mito, you're talking about the female lead of the latest novel you read, the one who fucked up something that was so _simple_. Come on, it's not hard.  
“Remember that day when that representative from the Maito Clan came bearing gifts? There was also a bottle of shochu and I shared it with Tobirama. Everything was going so well, so I kissed him.”  
She huffs in disgust at herself, at her blindness - at her _vanity_. It stings that she would fall prey to such a ignorant, plebeian feeling when she always thought so highly of herself. “That's when I should have told him everything - but I _didn’t_. He rejected me, and my stupid pride made me want to see if I could wear him down.” Oh, how the mighty fall.

Yes, he understood that perfectly well. From the halting, broken sentences that Tobirama had torn up from the bottom of his soul, Hashirama had more than gotten the picture. It isn’t a picture that he likes.   
“When I told you I was okay with you taking my brother to bed, I did not mean to say that I was okay with you breaking him.” He shakes his head. No matter what Tobirama thinks of himself, no matter what the people around them say, Hashirama will always be of the firm opinion that his brother is a good man.   
Oh, he does things that are not so pure, as does every shinobi. But the core of him is so good, moral and strong, loyal where it matters. The actions that Mito has taken are exactly the sort of thing that Tobirama is against, just the sort of thing that will hurt him the most.   
“Did you really think it would work, my flower?”  
He’s curious to know. Mito is a wonderful woman, there’s no question about that, and he knows that she _knows_ it. He’s always known that her streak of pride is quite a bit larger than most. Yet he hadn’t expected it to be so large that she thought herself desirable enough to encourage a man to cast aside the love of his family. 

She finally tears her gaze away from the redwoods growing in their garden, gracing him with a disparaging smirk, one that's not nice and very bitter. “Oh, I was confident it would.”  
She softens her voice, because for all that what she's going to say is true, she doesn't want to make Hashirama feel guilty - like his brother, he too often takes the blame for things that are not under his control. “After what happened between us, I needed to stroke my ego, to prove myself I was still desirable, that I could still seduce a man.”  
She laughs - a short, fake, broken thing. “I was a fool, and let vanity rule my actions. My mother would be ashamed of me.”

“I agree, she would be. And with good reason.”  
With a wry twist of his lips, Hashirama reaches over to set his teacup down next to the pot. He clasps his hands together and catches her eyes before speaking.   
“Your actions were foolhardy, selfish, and cruel. What you did was wrong.” She doesn’t quite tremble under his words and he is glad. The day he can make Mito shake with only a few sentences is the day the world is likely to come falling down around them all. “But you _are_ sorry. I can see that you regret it. Come here, my flower.”  
As much as he disapproves and he really is angry at her, seeing his loved ones suffer is akin to suffering himself. He wanted her to feel bad for what she’s done and now he can see that she does.  
Touka tells him he forgives too easily. Hashirama cheerfully ignores her and continues to give forgiveness where he believes it to be due.  
His expression is caught somewhere between fondness and a lingering reprimand but he opens his arms anyway, the invitation clear.

She doesn't wait for Hashirama to ask her twice, sliding along the end of the porch until she's fitted against his side, slipping into his hug like a river naturally flowing into the sea. Mito's arms circle his waist, hiding her face in his chest, and his arms come to wrap around her shoulders, pulling her close.  
Hashirama is safety, is home, is warmth - all things she missed dearly, all things she always took for granted and that now are very much put into question.

“Oh!” Hashirama perks just the smallest bit as he holds her close to his side. “Oh I’ve always wanted to do this! Wait, wait, I have to make the same face you do.”  
It takes some effort to twist his features into a semblance of the haughty disapproval that Mito wears so effortlessly whenever she tells him he’s done something particularly not good.  
“You’re an idiot,” he drawls, perfectly matching the same dry tone she uses on him.  
Then he tosses his head back and laughs until his belly hurts. She might feel ashamed already but he knows that there is no better revenge against someone like Mito than to turns her own words back against her. He isn’t generally a petty person but he has to admit that he quite enjoyed that. He also enjoys squeezing her tighter to cut off any escape attempts, cuddling his wife like a stuffed toy while he continues to chortle at her expense. 

It takes great effort not to cringe, hiding her discomfort behind a tight smile. While it's only a joke, it smacks of humiliation, and Mito has never been good at humble. She _detests_ people making fun of her - she's not like Hashirama, able to laugh at himself in any occasion.  
She finds some solace in her husband's antics, like a well-rehearsed play. When they hug, she often squirms first, and he likes to trap her in, just for giggles. Desperate for anything that will lighten the mood, Mito humours him, pretending to squirm out of his embrace, when leaving his side the least thing she wants right now.

Still snickering lightly to himself, Hashirama relents after a minute and allows Mito some breathing room. He doesn’t let go of her altogether, though. He might not be smart like her but he knows her better than she thinks he does and he can tell when she doesn’t really want to get away. He waits for her to sit up before wrapping one arm around her back and keeping her close in a half hug as they both look out over the quiet yard.  
For a few moments, he lets the silence settle. They still have other things to talk about and he tries to find a kinder way to ask his most prominent question.  
“What will you do now? You wanted it to be Tobirama and it would have been best, I know. That path looks...a bit treacherous now. Will I be helping you select a new beau upon which to lavish your questionable attentions?”  
A smile softens the small needle in his words. It wasn’t really her intentions that were questionable, only her methods. 

Pressed right up against that giant of her husband, his warmth fighting off the chill of October, Mito shakes her head. “No. First and foremost, I'm going to find a way to make things better again.”  
In the past week, she's given it a lot of thoughts. What to do, now? Her need for a lover hasn't changed.   
She still wants Tobirama. She doesn't want someone pretty to drag into her bed just for a roll in the sheets and to get pregnant. She doesn't want a man to use as a stallion, she wants her friend.   
Despite how she fucked up, Mito still wants Tobirama to look at her with desire, still wants his hands on her body. She wants to be a bigger part in his life, and she wants to show him all the tiny things that make her life special.  
She wants them to lounge on the bed after they had sex, still naked and pleasantly tired, Mito's head on his shoulder and his hand on her belly, talking of utterly ridiculous things. Just… just being happy together.  
She wants to bear his children, not those of a nameless stranger. She wants to look at his face when she tells him she's pregnant, wants to see his face when he holds his child for the first time. She wants to be the one to give him that joy.  
Hashirama hums, and Mito startles, realizing she's been quiet a long time. “I still want Tobirama. He's… I don't really want anyone else.”

An interesting thing to say after being lost in thought for so long. Hashirama breathes in slowly, deeply, filling his lungs to capacity before just as slowly letting it all flow back out.   
“I don’t want my brother to be hurt again.”  
He isn’t sure how to phrase it but he wants some sort of reassurance that it won’t happen again. That she will be more careful this time.   
“It isn’t only you that your choices affect. If you woo him into your bed...well. He is a real person Mito. He isn’t so unaffected as he would have the world believe.”  
If there is one thing that Hashirama could be considered an expert on that those around him cannot, it would be love. Human feelings. His precious people are all very smart indeed yet they all seem to be such idiots when it comes to emotion. There are small clues, little bread crumb trails, that he’s been picking up from both Tobirama and Mito. They might not see it yet but he does.  
He’s pretty damn sure that they regard each other with a great deal more affection than either of them is willing to let on. It’s possible that one or both of them are well on their way to falling in love and while that would absolutely send him over the moon with happiness it almost makes him apprehensive.  
If he’s right, there is so much more potential for them both to be hurt. 

“I'll _never_ hurt him again,” Mito says with vehemence, pulling back to look at Hashirama dead in the eyes, her own as hard as iron. “Never. Whatever happens, however it ends, I will _never_ hurt him like this again. Trust me on that.”  
He holds his hands up in mock surrender and Mito realizes she's way too high-strung. With an angry sigh, she closes her eyes and rubs them. If only she didn't have this headache, thinking would be much simpler.  
“I _know_ he's more sensitive than he shows - I had ample proof.” By which she means that she got her proof by stomping in his feelings and being surprised when he lashed out at her.

If she wouldn’t take it the wrong way, Hashirama would be smirking with victory right now. She’s just given him pretty much all the confirmation he needs. Mito definitely sees his brother as something - whether that something is just a very precious friend or a little bit more remains to be seen.  
(He _really_ hopes it’s that little bit more. How wonderful would it be to see her happy with his brother? He’s wanted Tobirama to settle down and find his own happiness for years. To find that happiness now in Mito would be perfect in so many ways.)  
“I’m glad,” he responds simply, trying for his most agreeable tone.   
“Well, if you ever want him to be able to look at you like that again we’re going to have to help him get over his grumps. He told me you apologized already. Thank you for that, by the way. That was very big of you and I know it must have been hard. But I don’t think it was quite enough. What’s our next step, hm?”  
He never could have imagined that one day he would be sitting on his front porch planning his own brother’s seduction. And by his wife, no less! Life has a way of taking you to strange places. But no matter what, he and Mito are a team. He promised to help her in all her endeavours, through good times and bad, and he’ll live up to that promise no matter how awkward this is. 

That has her blinking, surprised. If she had one lick less of control, she'd be reeling back in shock. “You… You approve? And you're going to _help_ me?”  
Many things can be said of Uzumaki Mito, but not that she's slow in the uptake, so she gets over her surprise fast. There is warmth and relief and joy bubbling inside of her, and she leans against him, hiding her face and her jumbled emotions into his chest. “Thank you, darling. I love you.”

Hashirama puffs up like a happy cat, eyes closing in a delighted smile. He so enjoys hearing those precious words. He doesn’t get them very often from most people. Rarely from his brother. Never from his best friend, the one he most wants them from.   
“I love you too, my dear. You and him both. I only want my loved one to be happy.”  
He presses a quick kiss right between her ever present buns, careful to avoid all hair decorations lest he be stabbed through the eye.  
“Now, I know you like to have a plan. What’s our approach then? Call me a party pooper but I don’t know that you should be doing anything particularly sneaky or clever right now. Hardly seems the time.” 

His enthusiasm and optimism is infectious: when Mito straightens up again, she's smiling. Maybe she can salvage this and let everyone have a happy ending. “What about bribing, though? I owe Tobirama sushi for a favour he did me. What if I offered to treat him for lunch or dinner? Would he take it as a peace offering or would he be offended?”  
Before this happened, she wouldn't have needed Hashirama's council on how Tobirama would react to something, trusting she knew him - but now, she's not willing to take any chances.  
“How much does he hate me? Do you think he's willing to let me try and make it up to him?”

_Don’t call her adorable, don’t do it, she’ll hit you if you do it._  
“I don’t know that I would go in there with the mentality of calling it bribery but I like the idea. Brother is smart, he knows a peace offering when he’s being given one.”   
He takes a moment to hum and think, trying to look at the situation the way Tobirama would. It’s a difficult task, his sibling’s brain runs on entirely different tracks than his own does, but they’ve been living side by side for years. He can at least manage a good approximation.  
“Perhaps if you brought dinner with you? It’s best to pin him down and not give him time to overthink things.”  
The younger man seems at times almost determined to wallow in his hurts. Once offended or wounded he tends to curl up and sulk in a corner - proverbially speaking of course. Not that Hashirama has ever actually found him sulking in a corner before.  
At least, not since they were children.

She nods, recognizing the wisdom in her husband's words. Takeaway it is. “Best to go to him when he's home or in his office?” she wonders aloud. Both have pros and cons - at home he might feel invaded, but it's also where he feels the safest so maybe he'd relax more? Or would a semi-public place make him feel more at ease?  
She looks at Hashirama's profile as she thinks, watches him furrows his brows in an overly-dramatic thinking expression - it makes her laugh, as it was no doubt his intention.  
She really loves the husband her father found her. Not in the way she thought she would when she married him, but she still does.  
“You said it was alright for me to find a lover to warm my bed and father your heirs. But…” Mito is a grown up woman, who weathered many affections, from teenage crushes to the deep soul-tearing love she bore for Dansei, the man who should have been her husband. Mito knows love, knows how to recognize it, by now.  
When she met Tobirama almost a year ago, he quickly became her new best friend. A friend she fantasized about because Tobirama is downright hot, but that was it.  
Then her agreement with Hashirama happened, and she was suddenly allowed to look at Tobirama as something _more_. Getting into his bed was definitely the first thing in her list, but in the month she spent courting him, she got even closer to him - and the safe barrier of ‘I'm married’ just wasn't there anymore.   
Mito thinks of Tobirama, think of how much she missed him when she kept away, how much guilt ate at her when she realized she hurt him, and…  
It feels a lot like with Dansei, when they went from friends to lovers. It's different, of course, because Tobirama and Dansei are so very different, but… Mito thinks she may be a bit in love with Tobirama. Or at least starting to.  
How blind of her.  
She was so concentrated on making him want her that she didn't pay any care to her own heart.  
“If this works… if Tobirama forgives me, if he does sleep with me… I love you, darling, I really do, but things would change. In the long run, Tobirama wouldn't be only a friend. Do you understand?”

“Oh?”  
Hashirama bites the inside of his cheek.  
“Change, you say?”  
It isn’t enough, so he bites his tongue instead.  
“No, I hadn’t realized.”  
His face is surely doing some rather interesting contortions in his attempts to contain his amusement. It’s a very expressive face and he is very amused.   
“Hand to the kami I never saw anything like this coming.”  
Laughter bubbles up in his lungs and he tucks both of his lips in, biting down on the wide smile trying to grow. He knows he’s failed entirely when a small squeak of a giggle escapes him and Mito gives him a withering look.  
It opens the floodgates, causing him to throw his head back and dissolve into laughter for the second time, one hand still wrapped around her while the other holds his stomach.  
“Didn’t you?” he gasps out through tears of mirth. “Mito, my sweet petal blossom, that’s the first thing I thought of when we first talked about it! I couldn’t possibly be happier at the thought of my special people coming even closer together.” 

She does her best to keep her embarrassment off her cheeks, keeping her head high, her shoulders rigid. Twice in less than ten minutes Hashirama is laughing at her - definitely a twist in comparison to their usual dynamic.  
“You, husband, are an utter, complete idiot, and I despise you very much,” she tells him as primly as she can muster, trying to pick up the shards of her dignity. For _Hashirama_ to know and for her to ignore that long-!  
The man ignores her, his booming laughter ringing out in their garden - look at him, a grown man giggling like a little girl over a prank gone well!  
Mito props her chin in her hand, rolling her eyes, patiently settling to wait his hilarity out.   
However, despite her offended stance, she's smiling.  
_Thank you_.  
Perhaps she will even tell him out loud, later.  



	9. Take Me Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A capitualtion of sorts. A joining. Wrongs are admitted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the huuuuge delat. Holl face-slammed against two issues: writer's block AND work. Between one and the other, I stopped writing chapter 10, and so chapter 9 was delayed too.  
> You have to tahnk Rae for this chapter and the next: she steadfastedly sttod by me even if I was a filhty lazy ass. I love her.

Mito: Holly

Tobirama: Rae

  
Considering how Tobirama loves sushi, Mito figures he must be an expert, so to be sure not to mess it up she turns to an expert in food - namely Akimichi Rei. Her friend sends her to a small restaurant at the very end of the commercial district, where Mito orders a veritable mountain of food to the surprised owner.  
With her wallet much lighter and burdened with two bags of the best fish one can find so far from the sea, she takes to the rooftops, eager to get to Tobirama's place. With the help of his aides, Mito tweaked his schedule so to give him more off time, and she just happens to know he's home right now.  
Two weeks have passed since their confrontation. In the past week, Mito dared trying to speak to him when they were both at the Admin tower - ‘here's the Nara paperwork’ and ‘I can't believe the Uchiha are making a fuss again’ and ‘Hashirama said he wants to see you about the Academy’, but at least Tobirama _talked_ with her. Her husband agreed it was a good sign, so she kept her words polite, never crowding Tobirama.  
She only hopes she's not overestimating her chances, _again_.  Mustering a cordial smile, she raises one hand to knock at Tobirama's door, mindful not to jostle the food.

His feet have only just stepped into the kitchen when it becomes clear that Mito’s chakra is coming towards him specifically instead of passing by to continue towards her own abode. He stands still and frowns, his eyes closed as he feels her presence approach his home and pause on the front doorstep.  
When she knocks he realizes he’s been holding his breath and lets it all out in a single puff, debating whether or not to answer.  
After speaking with Hashirama he feels better, much better than he’d thought he would. That frantic ache in his chest is gone now that he knows he hasn’t truly betrayed his brother. The thought is still there - Hashirama might have approved of this turn of events but Tobirama hadn’t known that at the time - but his sibling helped a great deal with setting his own turbulent feelings to rest.  
It’s also helped to have some space between himself and the source of his self-flagellation. They’ve managed to trade a few forcibly polite words in passing but for the most part Mito has left him alone. Though he misses her company it’s been good to have the freedom to set his thoughts in order.  
He still hasn’t come to a decision on what to do with her, however. It doesn’t help that he has no idea what her agenda is from here on out. Will she ask him to stay friends? Will she cut her losses and drift away, become the distant sister-in-law that only speaks to him when necessary?  
Will she continue to pursue him?  
Would he let her?  
Worrying his bottom lip absently between his teeth, Tobirama backs out of the kitchen and heads for the front door, bracing himself before pulling it open to reveal Mito with a friendly, hopeful expression on her face.  
“Mito.” He nods his head in a distant but polite greeting. His mouth opens to ask if she needs something, then closes again. If she wants something, she can say so herself. He’s wary of asking such questions now. 

Tobirama’s voice isn't welcoming by any stretch of the imagination, but he still answered the door even knowing it was her - it could have been worse.  
She tilts her head, nodding in return. “Tobirama.” She stills, giving him the chance to talk, but he says nothing, his red eyes unwavering. His gaze is distant, but not cruel like that night, so she raises her bags like an offering. “I owe you sushi. I thought it was high time I paid my debts.” She smiles wider.  
“I bought enough for two,” she says offhandedly, subtly giving him the chance to choose between accepting her offer to eat together, or just ask that she gives him his portion and continue on her way.

He feels no guilt in taking his time considering her offer. It’s not the strangest way he’s been offered a white flag but it also isn’t the worst. At least she came bearing his favorite food instead of flowers like the last time Touka tried to apologize to him.  
With a grunt, he steps back from the door, leaving it open as he turns to walk back down the hall.  
“Well we’re not going to eat it on the porch. You might as well come in.”  
Facing away from Mito hides the conflicted expression on his face. Looks like he’s going to have to decide how to deal with her sooner rather than later. 

Pleased with herself, Mito follows him in. Looks like something is finally coming well. He chose to spend time with her when he could have very well sent her away - maybe some animosity died down.  
In the kitchen, Mito puts her bags on the counter and unwraps the food, revealing the spread of sushi she bought: nigiri, sashimi, maki, a bit of everything. She knows Tobirama favours salmon so the pink fish is the one she ordered more of, but there's also tuna, shrimp, orata, swordfish, octopus, eel and crab.  
Behind her, there's the clink of plates and glasses. When she turns, the table is laid out, and Tobirama is looking at the sushi the same way a cat might look at a saucer of cream.  
“There we go,” Mito says, bringing everything to the table and sitting down. Tobirama laid her plate at the spot she usually occupies, on the short end closest to the window.  
“Feel free to take all you want.”

Considering that this is obviously an apology of sorts, Tobirama feels no guilt in filling his plate with probably more food than is truly good for him. He doesn’t care. Some way or another she’s managed to figure out which restaurant serves his very favorite sushi. Interesting, that, because he’s fairly sure he never mentioned this restaurant even to Hashirama.  
Strangely polite by her own standards, Mito waits for him to take all he wants before reaching for her own portions. Once she has all she wants as well the two of them settle on opposite sides of the table, eating in the mire of a lengthy silence. He’s never felt so awkward around her before.  
Normally he enjoys silences. This one, however, he finds nearly unbearable. It’s like listening to the sound of emptiness where there should have been comfort, friendship. He is only able to stand it for so long before he capitulates and breaks it.  
“I did not get a chance to speak with Hashirama after that affair during the council meeting yesterday. I know how he hates fighting with Madara. Is he doing well, today?”

Holding her chopsticks delicately, she dips a piece of tuna sashimi into the soy sauce saucer, politely letting the excess droplets drip off not to leave stains on the tablecloth. “There was a spot a sulking yesterday evening, but by the time he went to sleep he was himself again.” She chews her morsel - it's quite good, and quite the surprise, this far from the sea.  
“I showed him a new way to braid his hair and that distracted him well enough. There were beads involved.” She covers a chuckle with a hand. It was quite a nice evening. Yuuka and Rei have both short hair, so it's fun to have a friend with long hair to play with again.  
“After I discovered he was gay, one day I offered to braid his hair as a joke - and he was ecstatic. I let him practice on my hair, and I do his in return. He loves it.”

Unbidden, their conversation from weeks ago rises to mind and before he thinks too deeply about it, the words fall from his mouth without his express permission.  
“You keep your fingers out of _my_ hair.”  
Then he blinks and looks down at his plate, trying to cover how uncomfortable he’s just made himself. He didn’t mean for his words to have a slightly suggestive undertone yet apparently his brain is still wired to react to this woman in certain ways.  
He forces his thoughts to turn aside and focus on something else. Except that sends him straight into the thought of Hashirama with twin pigtails and he almost chokes on his next bite of sushi. He’s not above teasing his sibling and there is absolutely no way he is passing up such a good opportunity to suggest that _this_ is what he and Madara really do in their spare time: braid each other’s hair and gossip like little girls. 

Mito merely raises an eyebrow, helping herself to more eel nigiri.  
(She kind of misses the great fried eel her uncle makes - she's always favoured cooked fish over raw fish. Perhaps the next time she goes to Uzushio she could bring Tobirama along and show him what real fish is like?)  
“I’m a woman of many talents, but braiding your hair is beyond even my ability. You'll have to settle for a wig if you ever want to join our girl parties.”  
Kami, how she missed this easy teasing, this familiarity.  
“Be warned though: our topics tend to pertain to pretty boys. We're coming up with a way to universally rank men’s butts.”

“That is something I never wanted to know so thank you for that. I’m never meeting Hashirama’s eyes again while we’re in public. I have no desire to know whether he’s truly paying attention to me or checking out the ‘pretty boy’ who just walked by.”  
He shakes his head, refraining from saying what he would have if everything were back to normal between them.  
He’s curious to know where his own physique ranks on her scale.  
A frown creases his forehead. Things like that should not be on his mind right now. He still doesn’t have a clear picture of her agenda or how things are between them now. He’s not even sure if she ever intended more than to simply bed him.  
“I’m glad to hear he is doing well, though.”  
Awkwardness creeps in and stilts his words and he hates it, hates this whole situation. 

Trust Tobirama to bring the awkwardness back to their dinner when they were having a perfectly pleasant (and hilarious) conversation, Mito thinks with a silent sigh, hiding her disappointment by taking a sip of water.  
She inwardly chides herself: she's being uncharitable with the man. She was the one to unsettle him to begin with. She needs to have patience if she wants his friendship back - and she really wants it.  
(Perhaps something else, too.)  
“He is,” she eventually settles for saying.  
“Next time I'm going back to Uzushio you could come with me. We have a lot of fish recipes you'd like.”

“If you show up with me on your arm instead of your husband then they might get the wrong idea, don’t you think?”  
As soon as the words are out he winces, dropping his chopsticks to bring that hand up and pinch the bridge of his nose.  
“Forgive me, I don’t seem to have control over my own tongue today. Pretend I said nothing.”  
There is a special kind of frustration to being caught exactly in the middle of wanting answers and not wanting answers. He wants to know her intentions but at the same time he fears that knowledge. Not the least because he knows that whatever direction she wishes to go in, he will certainly end up hurting in the end.  
He’s the idiot who fell in love, after all. 

It frustrates her, this way he has to slip into their old comfortable friendship, trading jokes and well-natured barbs, only to retract them, fearful of some barrier only he can see. As the lunch goes on, he keeps doing it: every time she thinks she made a step forward, he takes three backwards.  
Senju Tobirama claims to be a man of logic, who prefers clears words to the subtle game of ninja. Very well, let's give him what he wants. Let's cut the chase short, if this is what he needs.  
“You said nothing wrong. I know what my family would say, and it's nothing along the terms of what you're thinking.” She puts her glass down, twirling her chopsticks in her hand.  
“What can I do to make it right, Tobirama? I truly am sorry for what I did. I just want my friend back.”

Stillness settles over him, his eyes opening to gaze unseeing at the far wall. _Well, you can’t fault her bravery,_ he thinks. If he were in her shoes, would he have the guts to be so straightforward?  
It takes a few heartbeats before he can turn his head ever so slightly, meeting her gaze and praying that what he feels is not showing on his face. She’s shown the uncanny ability to read him in the past and he hopes she does not employ that here. It simply would not do for her to know how simultaneously hopeful and terrified he is.  
“You want you friend back,” he repeats quietly, more to himself than to her, letting the words sink in. “Is that all?”  
_Is that all you want?_  
He simply cannot make himself finish the question. 

So that's how it is: he isn't sure what her mires are. He doesn't know whether he can safely fall back into the well-oiled patterns of their friendship or if he has to brace himself for more changes, for more games.  
Mito knows what she wants. Does Tobirama?  
“I want us back like we were. I want to spend time with you and talk without this awkwardness.”  
She stares at him long enough that his red eyes finally meet her silver grey ones - and she holds his gaze, refusing to let go. She doesn't know how else she can communicate her longing, her sadness, her want, her hope. “I still want _you_ , but I'm willing to take your friendship if that's all you can give me, and be a happy woman.”

“Is that what you’re after? Your own happiness?”  
To cover the way his heartbeat has suddenly increased threefold, Tobirama stands from his chair and picks up his plate, walking it over to the sink. He would have taken hers too if he thought he could trust his hands anywhere in the vicinity of her body.  
She _wants_ him and a part of him sings for that knowledge.  
But what she means, he’s sure, is that she wants his _body_ , wants it for the child she needs and wants him to father, and it’s a cold thought when he knows he could keep her so warm.  
“And if giving you my friendship would not make _me_ happy, what then?” 

It makes her grit her teeth, how dismissive he is of her and her words, but she reins it in - he has all the right to be bitter, all the right not to trust her. It hurts, but it's a hurt she brought upon herself. It'll teach her better than letting her arrogance and vanity ruin the few things she really loves.  
“If being my friend doesn't make you happy, I'd accept it and learn to see you only as a colleague and my brother-in-law, and interact with you accordingly.”  
Noticing that the water jug is empty, she stands up and fills it at the sink, just to keep her hands busy, her eyes following him moving about the kitchen. “I realize up until now it has been all about what _I_ wanted, but I want you to know that I really would like to be more than friends with you. The question is… what do _you_ want?”

With a low growl, Tobirama turns towards her, her words hitting him low in the gut just as he moves to walk past where she stands. His hand is moving before he realizes, snatching the jug from her fingers and slamming it down on the counter with so much force he’s surprised it doesn’t shatter.  
Out of habit, his body presses forward towards hers like an attack, his face only inches from her own as he hems her in until her back presses up against the refrigerator. The control that he is so famous for starts to tremble, slipping at the edges.  
“I think you and I both know that after your little games _friendship_ is not what I think of when I think of you.”  
His voice stays low, an icy snarl that finally releases some of the pent up frustration inside of him, and it is with some satisfaction that he watches Mito fidget under his gaze. 

Tobirama is much taller than her - cornering her as he's doing now, he positively towers over Mito.  
But if he thinks she's so easily cowed he's got another thing coming. Mito has always been the shortest in her family, and has long since learnt to compensate.  
It takes effort to hold his gaze, for his eyes are burning with a turmoil of unnamed emotions, but she still does it, as steady as the shore battered by the sea's waves.  
(Kami but he's so close she could kiss him, and it takes all her iron will to refrain herself from giving in, _again_.)  
The barely-hidden threat of his stance and the storm in his eyes make her belly feel warm. She wants him to look at her with the same intensity, but for a completely different reason. She wants his eyes to be half-lidded in lust, his voice low because of arousal.  
“That's not a ‘no’,” Mito says - and it's a question and a dare wrapped up in one. She refrains from saying more, from saying things that could sway him - she wants to know, she wants to see his soul laid bare. She made her wants clear. She can tell he's still attracted to her, but does he _want_ her?

Control shivers, wobbling precariously while he presses as close as he can without touching her, lifting a single eyebrow almost mockingly.  
“Ah, the true intentions come out. You want me to _fuck you,_ is that it, my dear Mito?”

Tobirama has _no right_ to be this attractive, not when they're having this very important conversation. His words send a spark of brighthot _want_ down Mito's body, and she can feel her center growing warmer and wetter. Kami, she's never wanted anything more than she wants to fucj this man.  
“Yes,” she answers, tilting her chin up in open defiance - let him think her a _whore_ , but she knows what she wants and she will not allow anyone to make her feel ashamed. 

“You want it?”  
He grabs the tops of either of her arms, lifting her clean off her feet and slamming her back against the fridge, certainly only managing to do so because she clearly didn’t expect him to. The sound of his control snapping is nearly audible as he leans in the last few inches.  
“You got it.”  
His lips crash down on hers with all the force of his suiton, fierce and vindictive and so hot it feels like a wildfire rushing through him. Mito’s legs wrap around his waist, her hands fisting in his hair. Without the need to hold her up, Tobirama’s hands slide roughly down her sides to cup her bottom, kneading the flesh there like a cat.  
“I’ll bet you’re used to all the men falling at your feet to give you what you want.” He growls the words against her lips before catching them in another kiss, nipping and licking and devouring the way he has been in his dreams for far too long now.

Mito kisses him back just as hard, his parted lips allowing her tongue to slip into his mouth - but he doesn't allow her to kiss him deeply, no, he _pushes back_ , tangling them in a fight of tongues and teeth and lips.  
It's a sharp kiss, almost as sharp as the man holding her up, and it's all Mito ever wanted. She wants this, she wants this silent threat of violence evident in the way he presses her hard against the fridge, the way his hands grope her.  
She wants this carelessness, because it allows her to give him back just as much. She wants to take and take and take, and he seems to want the same - who will break, who will end up _giving_?  
“Oh, I am”, she purrs, using her grip on his hair to tilt Tobirama's head just so that she can nibble at his ear none too gently. “Will you fall to your knees too? Worship me and eat me out?”  
She feels light and warm, and she grinds her hips against him, trying to get a feel of him.

Her balance is too good to be even slightly disturbed when he steps away, holding her body close to his own as he carries her through the kitchen. Her weight is nothing to someone like him and he hitches her up higher as he walks, disturbing her attentions on his ear to give himself room to sink his teeth into her neck.  
“I will do whatever I damn well please and I’ll do it in my own damn time.”  
He doesn’t say yes but _oh kami yes_. He would fall to his knees for her in an instant - planned to even. But her taunting rubs him just a little too much and he decides she can wait now. Instead of fast and rough against the fridge, he’ll spread her out across the bedsheets and take as much time as he wants to.  
It doesn’t really bother him that she doesn’t seem to hate her punishment very much. A dark chuckle graces his ears instead, trailing off into a delicious wanting sound as he uses his grip on her bottom to rub her against his burgeoning erection. He needs her to feel how much he wants this because he knows he’ll never have the words to say it.

Tobirama is deliciously hard - it's only right, when she's already so wet. She can't remember the last time someone took her like this, hard and with no excuses, carrying her around with such ease, and she loves it.  
Tobirama doesn't drop her in his bed as much as he lets both of them fall onto it, cageing her in against the mattress, towering over her, his mouth still on her throat.  
He switches between nibbling on the pale column of her neck, making her feel the pressure of his teeth, and sucking hard - he's making sure to leave marks, making sure she will remember him.  
Mito is all for marking her territory too, so she slips her hands under the hem of his shirt and caresses the expanse of his back - only to suddenly drag her sharp nails down his back at the same time she bucks her hips up, rubbing herself against his trapped erection.  
The sound he gives - a low, broken groan - makes Mito's breath hitch, her center pulsing with the need of being touched as the Senju ruts down against her in answer.  
“Off,” she orders, tugging at his shirt, pulled up to his armpits. She doesn't want this to be a quickie, baring only the necessary skin to fuck - she wants to see him naked, wants to drink him in until his pale skin is all she sees.

Her demands to remove his clothing are orders he is all too happy to follow. Kneeling between her legs he sits up enough to tear his shirt over his head. As he tosses the material away he sees the way she is eyeing him appreciatively and allows himself a small prickle of pride. Then his body falls forward again, his teeth finding her clavicle at the same time his hands find the tie of her kimono shirt.  
As much as he was only just thinking about taking his time, a man only has so much patience after waiting for so long. The moment he pulls apart the soft material of her shirt his head lowers, mouthing at her breasts through her undergarments and teasing her with sharp nips he knows would feel so much better without that last layer.  
His hands play with the lines of her bra, tracing them until it disappears underneath her back. Then he places one last kiss directly between her breasts and pulls away.  
“Up. These need to go.”  
Instead of his hands, he lets his heated gaze tell her what he is referring to, though it must already be obvious. He’s imagined what she would look like underneath her clothing often enough; he wants the real thing now. 

The way he bites her breasts through the thick fabric of her bra makes her whimper - he's teasing, teasing her, and she wants more, so much more. There's a raw energy to him, kneeling only in his trousers between her spread legs, his eyes dark with primal hunger and the anger born of frustration. His hands are warm and heavy on her legs, kneading the softer flesh of her inner thighs, so frustratingly _close_ to where she wants him to touch-!  
With a silent snarl, Mito sits up and takes one of Tobirama's hands, pulling it over her groin. “Touch me,” she orders in a no-nonsense voice, then proceeds to quickly rid herself of her kimono, followed closely by her red and black lace bra.  
Tobirama rubs her mound through the fabric of her trousers, making pleasure unfurl in her belly, her hips bucking up into his hand. Feeling utterly satisfied with herself, her round and naked breasts in display, she smirks at him, raising a hand to pull the hair pins out of her buns, letting her hair unravel down her shoulders.

It’s not often that reality is more satisfactory than what he imagines in his head - he’s got a good imagination after all. He’s nearly stunned into immobility by the delicious feast laid out before him. She’s even more perfect than he imagined her to be.  
“I thought I told you I would do whatever I please.”  
Even as he says the words his fingers disobey him, tracing the shape of her through the remaining layers of clothing, drawing his thumb along the line of where she will soon open for him. The material is damp already and he shudders, leaning forward to return to his work on her breasts.  
“Perhaps I feel like taking my time, hm?”  
He lets his teeth scrape her nipples, still teasing even now that she is bared for him, and only gives in when she arches into his mouth with a frustrated noise. Then he bites down with as much pressure as he dares, suckling her flesh the way he hasn’t dared to dream about. Kami but she tastes good already. He can’t wait to taste her in other places.  
Mito’s fingers wrap themselves in his hair and tug at it in frustration, making him hide a chuckle by switching to her other breast and lavishing it with the same attention. Impatient little thing, she is. 

“Ah!” She sighs in pleasure, her hands firmly keeping Tobirama's head where she wants him, pushing him even closer, silently commanding him to give her more.  
He lavishes both her breasts with attentions, cupping and kneading the soft flesh with his free hand, while his mouth works on her nipples, licking, suckling, nibbling, the thick nubs hard and slick under his ministrations.  
He bites as much flesh as he can, drawing a startled cry out of Mito - pain and pleasure too similar to tell them apart - and he lavishes the abused breast with wide licks in mock apology.  
Mito loves it best when he suckles her nipples, and she lets him know by rewarding him with tiny noises, her fingers carding through his short hair. Each suction feels like he's mouthing her opening, all the muscles of her belly contracting - she's acutely feeling the lack of a cock inside her to clamp down around.  
However, it seems like Tobirama isn't good at multitasking, because the more attention he gives to her breasts, the less he's giving to her hidden center, his hand stilling the marvelous rubbing of her clit through the fabric, and that just won't do.  
“You're slow,” she complains in a husky, sulky voice, one of her hands descending to slip inside the loose hem of Tobirama's trousers, cupping his erection and balls through his undergarments and gently squeezing - let's call it _incentive_.

“Then perhaps you should allow me to move at my own pace instead of commanding me like a little queen.” Tobirama huffs a dark chuckle into her skin. She asked him to touch and he did. He never agreed to keep it up, though, and a little teasing could go a long way to teach her just a bit of patience.  
However, her hand below his waistline feels _heavenly_ and he supposes that deserves a reward of some sort.  
“You want me to touch you, Mito?”  
She makes a distracted noise of discontent as he moves his mouth away from where she is trying to keep him, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kiss down her ribs. His tongue darts in to taste her bellybutton, more to tickle than to cause pleasure, and he crawls backwards inch by inch as his kisses travel lower until he meets the hem of her trousers.  
“I don’t know that I feel like touching you.”  
Leaving the barrier in place - because he knows it will frustrate her - he trails lower and lower until he is placing kisses directly over her opening, still bound in cotton, drawing his tongue up the cloth in demonstration of what is to come.  
“Perhaps I feel like tasting you instead,” he breathes, burying his face and inhaling her scent. She smells like nothing he’s ever experienced, pure woman, and he can feel himself twitching at the thought of pressing himself inside.  
But not yet. In every fantasy he’s ever fallen into about this woman, whether voluntarily or accidentally in a dream, he always makes sure to bring her over the edge at least once before giving into his own desires. He’s never left a woman wanting in his life and he certainly isn’t going to start with _her._

The pressure of his tongue is lighter than the one he applied before with his hand, and yet it makes Mito shudder a lot harder. It's probably the sight of him, kneeling and bowed, between her legs, his hands keeping her thighs spread, and the look he gives her as he drags his tongue up the inner seam of of trousers.  
Tobirama looks hot, strong and aroused, and it's better than any fantasy Mito ever had about him.  
The muscles of his arms and shoulders shift as he changes position, leaning more towards her, like one of the great cats readying to devour its prey. Tobirama bites a mouthful of fabric and flesh, dragging his teeth, and she can't help a tiny moan. He can surely taste her through the cloth.  
"And yet here you are, on your knees for me just like I said,” she mocks him, her hands ruffling through his short white hair. “How are you liking it?”

“I might be on my knees for you but you’re on your back for me and I think that evens things out rather nicely, yes?” With another draw of his tongue over cotton he smirks up at her. “And you? Are you _satisfied_ now that I’ve done what you asked of me?”  
He has. He’s followed her orders to the letter. It isn’t his fault she wasn’t clear in what she wanted.  
Tobirama, on the other hand, know exactly what he wants.  
“Any other demands or will you be letting me do what it is I came down here to do?”  
She wants his tongue inside of her just as much as he does, that much is all too obvious. But he doesn’t want to do it just because she told him to. She’s manipulated him and teased him and made him bend to her will and he won’t have it here. At least, not entirely. All he wants is for her to acknowledge that he still has some agency, some fucking say is what is happening.  
Then she can order him around all she likes so long as it end with him fucking her through the mattress until the very essence of her is embedded in his sheets. 

Behind the lust, there's a current of bitterness in his words, even if the promise in them makes Mito inhale sharply.  
This is her slipping, slipping again, letting arrogance guide her actions - this is him, giving her a hint, letting her know she's overstepping her bounds. Mito promised herself she'd be on the lookout for any instance she's about to fuck up again, and yet there she is, making it all about her, marginalizing his wishes.  
“I'm yours for the taking,” she says, not quite an answer and not quite a question, and if her voice is sweeter than it was before, he doesn't comment on it. She's not going to apologize, not quite, so instead she slips her hands to pop open the buttons of her trousers for him. She hooks one thumb in the band of her red and black lace panties, pulling them down just enough to show him red curly hair, while her other hand goes back to petting his hair.

He can’t respond to her words; can’t question them, can’t stand them. If he opens his mouth to speak all that will come out is _mine, mine, mine._ So he doesn’t speak. He pulls down her clothes and reaches under her knees to press her legs up farther, letting them stay trapped in her trousers as he leans down and draws his tongue along her seam at last, lapping up the juices she is already leaking.  
The noise she makes has shivers running down his spine, rattles his very bones, and he does it again and again just to hear that noise one more time. His free hand reaches up, using two fingers to part her lips, and he pauses a moment just to enjoy the sight of it.  
He’s never seen anything quite so perfect.  
The words bubble up in the back of his throat, choking him, and he forces them back by diving into the feast before him, his own moan echoing with hers at the first press of his tongue inside her.  
His mind is screaming _finally_ and _mine_ and _fuck you taste good_ and he moans again for the way she writhes, grinding herself up onto his face.

It takes a lot of effort not to clamp her legs around his neck, so she hooks her hands under her knees, keeping her thighs spread open.  
Fuck, but Tobirama's tongue is warm and perfect as it slides in wide swaths over her opening, lapping up her wetness, making her groan.  
He licks her, bottom to top, with increasing speed and hunger, his nose deep into her red curls - when the tip of his tongue dips inside of her she cries out, a full-body shudder wracking her.  
He rides the involuntary buck of her hips, pushing his tongue in deeper, arousal making her loose and open, and then moves to flick her clit, toying with it.  
Mito loses it with a whimper, all her muscles coiling and her belly tightening, a surge of heat making her drip even more wetness - and with a deep moan, he laps it up, sealing his lips to her opening and sucking, swallowing her slickness, making her cry out again.

He could drink her down like a fine wine, he thinks, tongue chasing the drops of slick that he missed. His tongue plunges inside her once again, tracing her inner walls, but it isn’t enough. He wants to be deeper, hear how she sounds when he is, and drown himself in her voice as she screams his name.  
Actually, he hasn’t any evidence that she _is_ a screamer. It would be slightly disappointing to discover she’s the breathy but silent type, though certainly not off-putting. Only one way to find out.  
Trusting her to keep her legs up out of his way, Tobirama lets go of her thighs to bring his other hand down and trace the inner edges of her folds, teasing her with just the slightest bit of friction. His tongue finds just the right rhythm to flick against her clit to have her leaking wetness again to draw his fingers through.  
Then without warning, he presses two fingers inside, curling them to find that spot that he hopeshopeshopes will make her cry out. He wants her hoarse and whispering by morning, wants her to lose her voice for the pleasure he gives her. Wants to leave his mark in as many ways as he can.

Two fingers sink deep in her opening, and she's so wet and loose she barely feels the stretch. What Mito feels is them crooking, caressing her inner walls, just as he suckles her clit, making her whine and clamping down on the digits penetrating her - thus bringing even more stimulation to her overly sensitive nerves and causing her to cry out again, every feeling amplified.  
Mito twitches, grinding on those fingers, trying to get them to touch just the perfect spot, and Tobirama seems to get it: when she loses all her breath in a trembling moan, the gentle stroking changes into heavy abusing, rubbing that spot again and again and again, lightly raking his blunt fingernails over it. It feels like fire, her whole body trembling, and her fingers sink deep into the flesh of her own thighs, her legs starting to shake uncontrollably even as they tighten around Tobirama's head, eliciting a desperate sound out of him.  
All the while, he sucks on her clit, gently rolling the nub between tongue and teeth, and it's driving her crazy, grinding up to get more of that perfect feeling, wanting that bliss-bringing mouth closer.  
She's panting open-mouthed, soft, desperate sounds spilling from her throat. She's close, _this close_ , and she lets Tobirama know with a keen when he starts slipping his fingers in and out at a fast pace, always stroking that spot. Then he sucks _harder_ on her clit, and Mito is lost to pleasure, her body rocking like a boat on high waves.  
Her orgasm robs her of her sanity with a drawn-out moan, her body not answering her commands anymore, twitching helplessly on the bed. Tobirama's fingers still inside of her but his tongue doesn't, licking and sucking her seam, and every lap of it steals a panting sob from her, just on the verge of _too much_.

Every noise she makes is music and he cannot get enough. For every keen he can feel his cock twitch in interest. For every breathless moan his own thighs tremble with want  
. Tobirama waits until her muscles start to jerk in that way that says the pleasure is almost at the point of being too overwhelming before he backs away, slowly drawing his digits out of her at the same time that his tongue grants her the mercy of a moment’s rest. His fingers glisten with her juices and he can’t resist drawing them into his own mouth to suck them clean, already shamelessly addicted to her taste.  
Only then does he glance down at Mito, gasping for breath and looking back up at him through heavily lidded eyes. Her hair is spread out like a bloody halo all around her, the bruises he sucked in to her skin a stark contrast against her pale throat, and she has never been more beautiful. He feels almost reverent as he finally helps relieve her of her panties and trousers, fingers gentle even though he’s very nearly shaking with desire.  
She allows him to stretch her legs down across the bed on either side of him, almost docile in the afterglow, and it gives him the opportunity to trace her inner thighs. Her skin is so soft and the muscle underneath is so hard. She’s the perfect combination of everything he likes, everything he has always wanted.  
With a hum he bends his head, dropping his weight forward once more to press kisses to the undersides of her breasts. She looks as though she needs a moment and while he’s more than happy to grant her that, he finds he isn’t quite able to fully keep himself away. Anything more than a moment’s pause and he will be in danger of spouting words she likely doesn’t wish to hear.  
So, instead of ruining the moment, he simply lavishes gentle attentions upon her torso, slowly working his way up until he is kissing across her shoulders, up her neck, teasing the corner of her mouth. 

It takes a long moment for Mito to regain her breath, for her limbs to once again obey her instead of twitching on the sheets. She just lies there, feeling warm and supple and thoroughly _happy_ , just enjoying the bliss of the afterglow. Tobirama (still wearing his trousers, how come he's still wearing clothes?) spoils her with gentle attentions, worshipping her body from the toes up with light caresses and delicate kisses. Mito basks in his affection, slowly stretching like a lazy, fat cat.  
His lips glisten with her wetness. It's a look that suits him.  
She feels wonderful. “Oh kami, but I missed this,” she says, her voice still two tones lower than her usual.  
“I really needed it,” she repeats dreamily, tilting her head to intercept Tobirama's lips and kiss him - a slow, deep thing, unhurried. She's too mellow for hurried, right now. “I love your mouth. Thank you.”

Keeping his expression languid takes much more effort than it should when her words are so very close and yet so very far from what he really wants to hear.  
_Mine_ his mind whispers.  
He viciously smothers that voice, forcing a cocky grin and an arrogant tilt of the head.  
“I would say the pleasure is all mine but I believe I noticed you enjoying yourself as well.” An understatement. Her every reaction was gorgeous, so wonderfully responsive.  
Every muscle in his body is coiled like steel springs, eager, almost desperate, but he forces himself to stay still and quiet, doing nothing more than tracing patterns along her sides. Mito will let him know when she is ready to continue and he has enough self control to be patient until then. Barely.  
She draws him into another kiss and he licks his way into her mouth, letting her taste herself on his lips. Then he lowers his mouth next to her ear and breathes his words in a low rumble.  
“You were so good, little queen. Resplendent. _Delicious_.”

“Mh,” she purrs, high on satisfaction. She so likes the tone of his voice. Mito is glad he enjoyed himself too. “Was I?” she teases, smirking, openly lapping at his lips and chin, cleaning them of her transparent slick - she does so love her own taste.  
Now that he's leaning over her, Mito’s gaze falls on the offending clothes he's still wearing - and on the very obvious tent in his trousers.  
The sight of it makes another wave of heat spread through her, Mito's hunger rearing its head again. His mouth and fingers were good, but she wants _more, bigger_.  
Feeling mischievous, she once again slips her hand in his trousers - but this time she bypasses his underwear completely and cups his cock and balls, shuddering at the feeling of hard flesh and silky skin. “I'm the only one naked here. It's not _fair_.”

A quiet chuckle escapes him, broken around the edges as he fights not to rut into her hand.  
“All you had to do was ask, little queen.”  
Her expression is ravenous as he lifts himself away and reaches down to divest himself of the final barrier between them. Tobirama feeds on her hunger, lets in sink down under his skin and make a home in his memories. Kami but he hopes he never forgets the way she is looking at him right now.  
The moment his trousers fall to the side he is back, settling himself between her knees once more and plastering his body to hers. His hard cock nestles itself just between her slick nether lips and he slowly runs his length through the lingering wetness there.  
“This is what you’ve been fighting so hard for, isn’t it? Tell me you want it, Mito. Tell me how much you want me inside you.”  
He’s never denied that he’s a prideful creature, just the same as her, and if she’s allowed to stroke her own ego than he feels no shame in asking her to stroke his too.  
(Or maybe he only wants words to remember, to whisper on repeat in his mind when she is gone.)

Her clit is still overly sensitive after her orgasm, so it takes only for Tobirama to rub the head of his cock up and down her opening to rekindle the pleasure, making her gasp and shudder.  
Mito leans up on her elbows to look at her lover. Fully naked, he's even more handsome, utterly glorious in his masculinity.  
She takes in the cords of muscle bulging out on his arms and thighs, promising to be able to fuck her against any surface - she pictures what it would feel like to feel those muscles shift under her hands if he fucked her hard against a wall, holding her up like he did so effortlessly before.  
With an appreciative noise, Mito’s eyes follow the smattering of white hair on his chest down to the white curls of his pubes - and the thick, hard cock hanging between his legs. One hand wrapped around its base, Tobirama rubs it teasingly along her slit again, the fat tip almost disappearing in her folds, causing Mito to clench uselessly, wetness leaking out of her, sharply feeling the absence of that cock.  
She's aware she's wearing her hunger on her face, plain to see, and doesn't care one lick. Let him see how much she wants him. “I want you, and I want your cock. Take me.” A moment of hesitation. “Please.”

His movements pause as he tuts at her in mock disapproval.  
“Still so demanding.”  
Then his eyes narrow as he lines himself up properly.  
“As my little queen commands.”  
He enters her with one swift thrust, bottoming out with a hoarse noise that claws its way out of his lungs. Mito clenches around him and he quakes, pausing for a moment just to revel in the victory of being inside her, feeling her walls clamping down on his cock like she never wants to let him go.  
Thoughts still shattered into small fragments of glass, he manages to pull back slowly until only the head is still inside, sliding back in with a smooth rocking motion. She feels as though she were made just for him, just tight enough to feel like heaven but not so tight that he fears he is hurting her.  
And the heat! She could burn him to ashes and he would thank her for it with his last breath, praying to kami for just one more moment of the incredible sensation of being within her.  
He tries to set up a slow rhythm but his entire being rebels against the idea. He doesn’t want slow. He’s waited and dreamed and yearned for this - and now he is desperate. There isn’t room for slow now; all he wants is to fuck her through the bedding. Mito seems to agree with this plan, if the heels she hooks behind his back to pull him closer with are any indication.  
Spurred on by her response, Tobirama lowers his weight onto his elbows and lets his hips move the way they want to, with all the speed and fury of the frustration he’s been carrying around, finally able to let it out in a way they can both enjoy.

She’s so wet and loose that Tobirama’s cock slides in deep with a single push, stretching her, filling her. With a whimper, she clamps down around him, revelling in feeling him so hard and thick inside of her, joined as close as two people can possibly be.  
Despite having already come once, Mito feels just as hungry as before, raising her hips to meet Tobirama’s thrusts, trying to find the perfect angle. Tobirama doesn’t bother with slow and gentle, instead fucking her just like she wants, hard and fast and deep. He pulls back and shoves forward with utter abandon, sliding her backward until she feels the headboard behind her head. Mito braces herself against it, bucking up _harder_ , and the resulting thrust hits her so deep and hard she cries out sharply.  
Pleasure crashes through her, but it’s a cresting wave that rises and rises but _not enough_ , not enough to flood her, so she raises her legs, pulling at Tobirama’s arms until he gets her point and hooks his arms under her knees, folding her in two.  
He slams into her at the new angle and it tears a keen out of her, her inner walls clamping down to keep him there, there, again, again.  
“There, again,” she pants with a touch of desperation in her voice, sliding her arms up to circle Tobirama’s shoulders, feeling his hot breath over her neck. Chasing her climax, she tries her best to meet his thrusts, but every nerve ending feels on fire and her legs are starting to spasm, her hands grasping muscle, likely leaving shallow scratches, and she can’t quite coordinate with him anymore, not when he’s starting to pick up the pace, his punishing rhythm shattering into an animal frenzy.

The way her muscles flutter and spasm around him, he can tell she’s already drawing close again. It’s a relief because he isn’t sure how long he would have lasted after such a huge buildup of tension. On the other hand, he wishes he could draw this moment out forever, stay buried in her sweet perfection for the rest of his life.  
It’s an impossible dream, though, and he brutally shoves the thought away in favor of focusing on harder, faster, deeper. His breath is coming in pants and gasps, searching for air when it feels like she has stolen it all from his chest. His head falls forward but his eyes never leave her. Half-lidded, they watch her every shift and twitch from beneath his sweat soaked hair.  
He loves the way her breasts bounce with every thrust, the muscle that stands out in her arms as she braces and clenches, the lines of her face as her lips part in another moan. If he could bottle this moment he would, just for the pleasure of reliving it again and again. How incredible it would be to capture the way her back arches just so as he hits that one spot deep inside her yet again.  
The rhythm of his hips breaks, degrades into frantic thrusting the closer he gets to release. It would be easy to seek his own end and then bring her over with him but he feels greedy. He want to make the most of this, fulfil as many fantasies as possible while he has the chance. He wants to feel her cumming around him, finding her release because of _him,_ spreading her juices along _his_ cock.  
“Touch yourself for me, little queen,” he grits out between clenched teeth. “Come for me. Let me watch you come undone.”

Each hard thrust gets a tiny sound from Mito, for the hardness spreading her, filling her, leaves her unable to form words. She's a hot, twitching mess of need and pleasure, one hand descending to fist the sheets and the other slipping between their sweating bodies to touch herself - she needs more, she _needs_ a relief from this pressure building inside of her or she'll go crazy, and if Tobirama won't do it, she will.  
Her clit is slick and swollen, electricity searing down her nerves when she touches it, fondling her folds. Mito cranes her neck to look down at where they are joined, her thumb rubbing her pearl and her other fingers caressing Tobirama's cock as it slides in and out of her. She's so wet every thrust makes an obscene, slick noise, and so loose she manages to slip the tip of a finger inside her opening alongside her lover's thick cock, just for the thrill of feeling her slit stretched even farther.  
Tobirama too seems to find it as erotic as she does because he gives a high moan, his limbs shaking almost as much as hers, and he speeds up even more, just on the verge of too hard, too deep.  
He's going to come soon, she can tell, so she renews her attentions on her clit, rubbing it and rolling it between her fingers, chasing, chasing her orgasm.

Everything in the room is too bright, too close, too much, and he is only moments away from shattering. He can’t force enough air into his lungs, cannot drive his hips fast enough to slow his descent into madness.  
He speaks, barely aware of the words falling from his lips as he watches her eyelids flutter closed, just on the cusp.  
“Mito,” his voice is both a groan and a whisper, “My Mito.”  
She falls then - and he falls with her.  
The goddess beneath him cries out wordlessly, her own fingers driving her to that incomparable high, and the sight of it burns itself into his vision as the world falls apart around him.  
Nothing exists but that unique plummeting sensation of relief, the singular most intense orgasm he’s ever experienced in his life, and his ears do not even register the sound of his voice moaning like a broken man. His eyes falls closed at last, chin tucking down into his chest while his body bows over hers, driving in one final time as deeply as he can before finally coming to rest, cock twitching inside her as he fills her with his seed.  
When he comes to a minute later - only a minute? Has it been many? An hour? He doesn’t know - he suddenly realizes he is whispering her name again and again, lips pressed to her skin to taste the sweat that trickles down her neck. 

It's too much, too much, pleasure burning her, scorching her. She's torn in two, torn between needing the pressure to stop rising because it will surely break her, and the knowledge that the only way to ease the pressure is to make the wave crest and crash, so she keeps stroking herself almost desperately, until it really is too much, and her orgasm steals her away, making her clench on Tobirama's cock and claw at the sheets, her whole body twitching and spasming, her voice low and hoarse.  
At the same time her lover cries out, a drawn out moan she didn't think him able to produce. His red eyes half-lidded, Tobirama doesn't tear his gaze away from her as he thrusts in once, twice, thrice, his hips stuttering, pushing in as deep as he can, painting her insides with cum.  
He collapses on top of her, barely holding his weight on his elbows, but Mito likes to feel him so close, and she hugs his waist as she basks in the tiny sparks wrecking through her body, straightening her legs out on the bed.  
Sex makes Tobirama affectionate, trailing kisses and licks down her neck and chest, and in return she draws patterns on his back with her fingerpads, tracing the dip of his spine from nape to buttocks, feeling him shiver.  
“That was great,” she eventually murmurs as her panting slows, her eyelids heavy. If she had one lick more of energy, she would tilt Tobirama's head toward her to kiss.  
Or she could just ask him and let him sustain the effort. “Kiss me,” she whispers, her eyes falling closed, utterly sated. She's going to be sore, and she's never been happier.

The tension that’s been building between them for weeks is gone, finally sated, although he’s sure if he were allowed he would never have his fill of her. But in the absence of desperation reality finally crashes back in. Suddenly he is painfully aware of how different this experience was for the two of them, how much more it means to him than it does to her.  
Her request for a kiss might seem simple in her mind but to him it is like driving the final nail in the coffin, forcing him to recognize the things that are not truly his.  
And yet, he cannot resist. Once more, just once more. Just one more taste.  
His entire frame shakes with the lingering spasms of release but he lifts his head anyway and crashes their lips together in a desperate kiss, pouring everything he has into it, all of himself. He breathes his heart between her lips and lets it go.  
Mito hums as if startled but kisses him back with all the fervor that she can muster. The moment her hand comes up to tangle in his hair he snaps, pulling back in just such a way as to hide the fact that he is shaking off her touch. He tilts his hips back, pulling out of her as gently as he can.  
There is some article of clothing still next to them on the bed, his or hers he isn’t sure, and he grabs it up to wipe himself clean in a perfunctory manner.  
“I’ll fetch you something to tidy up with.”  
And just like that he forces himself up, apart, away. He wanted it and he let it happen but it cannot happen again, he tells himself. Absolutely cannot. If his heart was bruised before then to fall into such a pattern with her would break it and he isn’t willing to lower himself to that just to for a few extra rolls in the hay.  
When he returns to hand Mito a damp cloth she is eyeing him with obvious irritation, likely not happy that he removed himself so soon. That’s fine. Perhaps if she finds his lack of aftercare so displeasing she won’t suggest they do this again.  
It isn’t that he doesn’t want to. His heart begs him to lay back down, to pull her into his arms and stroke her limbs, whisper sweet nothings in her ear. His body wants nothing more than to lay beside her and trace her with her fingertips, perhaps bring her to a third lazy peak.  
But he _can’t._ All he can do is reach for his discarded boxers and pull them on before sitting heavily on the side of the bed, running one hand down the side of his face. He’s so very tired of guarding his own heart.

Mito glares daggers at Tobirama's back as he stands up and _leaves her_. She already knows he's a fastidious person about being dirty, but this is excessive even for him. He robbed her of the simple pleasure of feeling her lover's warm weight steadying her, feel his soft cock still filling her up, bottling up his seed.  
Now she's starting to feel the October cold and Tobirama's cum is dribbling down the crease of her buttocks, much to her displeasure.  
The kiss, as heartfelt and pleasing as it was, doesn't make up for Tobirama's rudeness.  
When he comes back from the bathroom and he offers her a damp cloth she accepts it, hoping that now that he's clean he'll climb into bed with her.  
He doesn't. Instead he pulls his underwater back on, sitting on the edge of the bed farthest from her.  
He looks down, depressed, sad. It's not a look that he should be wearing, not after such good sex. It irks and worries Mito.  
And since she's petty about him making her _worry_ when she only wants to enjoy the afterglow cuddling her new lover, instead of reaching out she calls her chakra chains into existence. In a flash, they've wrapped around him and they're dragging him back onto the bed beside her where he belongs.  
“What's wrong?” she asks, sitting up. Good thing she placed the damp cloth between her thighs, or the gush of slick and cum would have quite stained his sheets.

He shouldn’t be surprised that she isn’t willing to let him go so easily, not when he’s displeased her in such a manner. Tobirama waits until she retracts her chains before pushing himself up to sit against the headboard, bending his knees and resting his elbows on each of them. His head falls back against the wood behind him, eyes staring up at the ceiling.  
“I’m tired,” he murmurs, unsure if he is answering her question or simply speaking aloud. “So very tired.”  
Tired of running. Tired of fighting. Tired of hurting. Tired of _wanting._

Mito blinks at him. He didn't seem tired before.  
She shifts to sit against the headboard as well, speaking her thoughts out loud for lack of other things to say. “You didn't seem tired just now,” she teases him, hoping to lighten his mood - but he only shakes his head, and her eyebrows furrow in worry.  
“Hey,” she says softly, gently pushing his shoulder with hers as she fits right up against his side. “It's late, we should sleep. You _can_ sleep before midnight, you know. There's no law against it.” Is he still suffering from the work exhaustion she caused him? Mito thought that Hashirama had put an end to it. “You'll feel better tomorrow.”

Fighting the urge to push her away, not wanting to actually anger her, Tobirama sighs and lifts a hand to rake his fingers through his hair.  
“Would that I could sleep for a hundred years,” he says distantly.  
_Would that I could dream forever_ he means, to dream of her and the things they have shared. To feel her kisses and know in the safety of his dreamscape that they are only ever meant for him and no other. 

She slips an arm around his shoulders, gently drawing him against her until his head is leaning on her shoulder. “We’d better get started, then,” Mito tells him, laying a kiss on the crown of his head, feathery hair tickling her nose.  
She slides down the headboard, trying to drag Tobirama down with her. “Come on, lie down.” She sends him a sly grin. “Be a good boy and we can do this again tomorrow morning.”

Tobirama resists her pull, straightening his back even as she slides down onto the mattress again. It feels like she’s dragging him down with her, just not in a physical sense. More as if she holds him in the palm of her hands and where she falls he will fall beside her, no matter that he is pulling away almost before she is finished speaking.  
“No. No we cannot start anything.” He crawls away, standing up from the bed. “We cannot do anything again. We cannot do _this_ again. I’m sorry, Mito, but we can’t.”  
Where did his trousers go? Oh. Apparently that’s what he used to clean himself with earlier. He’ll need something else to wear then, except his heart rate has picked up again and his head is clouded. He cannot for the life of him think of what he’s supposed to do.  
He feels like a sailor adrift in the ocean, unable to see land no matter what direction he looks in.

That makes her shoot upright, the shock of his words chasing the pleasant sleepiness away - and promptly wincing when she pulls on her own hair, trapped under her elbows.  
“What?” she asks disbelieving as she frees her hair, pushing it all behind her back. Why would Tobirama say something like _that_?  
She strains her mind to remember their last words before they fell into bed, but she still doesn't understand. Tobirama just gave her ample proof that he too wants to be more than simple friends, that he too wants in her bed. Why is he saying they can't have sex anymore? It doesn't make sense. But worse than not understanding, is that he looks pained, looks hollow - horribly close to how he looked that night in his office, though he lacks the signs of exhaustion this time.  
Why is he like that? What did she do wrong this time?  
“What's wrong, Tobirama? Why can't we have sex anymore?” It's not a matter of not having liked the sex, that much is obvious. What is it, then?

His head spins once, twice, and he sways a little. Almost he gives in and sits back down on the bed - but no, he can’t place himself so close to her again. Not right now. Instead he looks down at his empty hands, fingers twitching and flexing like they’re reaching for something, though he isn’t sure what.  
The walls are coming up again and he can feel himself retreating behind them.  
“Because your victory was more complete than you knew, though I’m almost certain that was not your intention.”  
His voice is quiet, barely more than a breath, and yet it seems to fill the room and echo in the shadows that are gathering in the corners as evening deepens.  
“There are many lows that I will sink to but I am not so pathetic as to keep reaching for empty affection from a woman who does not love me as I love her. I apologize, Mito. I should not have given in.”  
He can’t tear his gaze away from his hands, can’t think of anywhere else that is safe for his eyes to rest. To look at her now would twist and break the things inside of him that are already twisted and broken. Mito seems stunned into silence and it suits him well at the moment. It gives him the time the wrestle his thoughts back into order. Clothes. He was looking for clothes. It’s three steps to his dresser, three seconds to reach in for whatever pair of pants is closest at hand, three more to tug them on haphazardly. When he turns he aims for the door, his insides jangling with something akin to battle panic, screaming escapegetoutescape.

Mito blinks at him, speechless. He's… he just said, in his complicated, dramatic way, that he loves her. _Really_ loves her.  
She knows seduction, and knows that love is not as easy to generate as lust. What she did, the game she played on Tobirama, was to make him desire her. This… this is all him. Feelings he himself nurtured.  
And this hollowness, this sudden change of humor - it's because he thinks she doesn't love him? He’s angry because he feels used, because he thinks Mito only wants his body and his seed, not his heart?  
Holding her breath, Mito summons her chakra chains for the second time in as many minutes, sending them to block the threshold, preventing him from leaving. He turns to look at her, eyes narrowed, but she's not having it.  
“You love me.”  
She wants to step in close and hug him, wants to cup his cheek in her hand and kiss his frown away.  
She doesn't, even if her heart screams to go to him. She wants to hold him close more than anything else in this moment, but he very clearly doesn't want her near him - and Mito is trying so very hard to be less selfish, to take his choices in consideration.  
So she jumps down the bed but keeps her distance, leaning against the threshold, effectively cutting off his only escape route, only then her vanishing her chains in a thousand shards of light.  
She takes him in, from head to toe. His ruffled hair, the sharp red slashed down his cheeks and chin, the way he holds his head a bit bowed, his pale skin still glistening with sweat, a stray scratch she gave him on his right side, how his arms hang listlessly at his sides, the white hairs on his chest, trailing down his abdomen to disappear under the band of his low-rise trousers, his naked feet peeking out from too-long trousers.  
This man, this great man, loves her.  
“Oh, Tobirama...”  
This is the same man she played, the same man she hurt, and yet he loves her.  
Mito is not a good person, and probably will never be. She knows she doesn’t deserve him, doesn’t deserve his heart, but she wants it nonetheless.  
The very moment he kissed her, she had decided that his bed wasn’t the only place she wanted in. When he picked her up and lowered her on the bedsheets, she silently promised to do whatever was in her power to get him to forgive her and love her.  
Mito knows love - and she knows happiness.  
Happiness and relief and satisfaction and humbleness and guilt is the smile she gives him. It’s this strange energy that runs in her veins, at the same time soothing and making her restless, it’s his red eyes meeting hers.  
“I love you too.”

He rakes a hand through his hair, frustrated with his own inability to express himself. He’s never been good at emotions, he’ll be the first to admit to that, and that failing is certainly doing nothing to help him now. Her words are just as sweet as they are painful and he doesn’t quite know how to communicate that to her.  
“I know that you love me, don’t mistake that. But there is a difference between loving someone and being _in_ love with someone and I also know you’re very familiar with that difference.”  
He remembers very well what she told him about the man she almost married, the love she carried for someone now lost to her. It would be useless to deny the slight twinge of jealousy he feels when he thinks about it. How would he compare to Arashi Dansei, he cannot help but wonder, how would he compare to the one who held her heart? What sort of man would he measure up not to be?  
“I do not wish to subject myself to being used as a brood stallion when each time it will mean something _different_ to me that it does for you. I want more than a child and good memories. I want…” He swallows and turns his head, heat rising in his cheeks as he forces the words to come. “I want a lifetime.”  
Bluntness is something he is rather well-known for, but that is usually at another’s expense. He isn’t used to baring himself like this, laying his own self open with such blunt and honest words. It doesn’t feel half as good as it’s supposed to, this confession business.

His answer throws her off. She opens her mouth, closes it, feeling off balance. It’s… It’s not out of character for him - in a way she could have expected it - and that makes her feel uneasy, sad. How can they be so different? Is it a simple matter of personalities or is it their different upbringing, Whirlpool versus Fire?  
Mito wonders what happened Tobirama's past to make him think he's not entitled to anyone's love - because that's what he's telling her, isn't he? That he's not worth falling in love with? He heard her ‘I love you too’ and just… Just refused it.  
She never had to persuade anyone of her love - any person she said it to, they just… Accepted it. It’s not something you question, not really.  
“I've known you for ten months, and for eight of them I was a married woman. You were my best friend, but outside of my fantasies, I never thought of you as a potential partner. But ever since this...this affair began, I've been thinking of you much more.” Words are what Tobirama understands better, so words are what Mito tries to use to convey her heart, when otherwise she would have let her body explain it.  
“I started flirting with you for the reasons you listed, but I've moved further than I thought I could. When we kept away from each other, I missed you more than I thought I would.”  
She sighs, pulling a long strand of tangled red hair behind her ear, wrapping it around her finger.  
“You’re not just a friend to me, Tobirama. This…” she points at the ruffled sheets of the bed where they just consumed their first time. “This only makes me love you more.”

It isn’t easy for someone like him to deal with such violent changes in emotion; he’s no Hashirama in that regard. Give him a battle where things have gone wrong and he can change direction on a dime. Give him words, feelings, and he is lost.  
He feels more lost than ever as he stares at Mito now, lips parted as he searches for words before he’s even properly defined how he feels. Has she just said she loves him? The way that he loves her? No, he’s jumped the gun. Limbs twitching with the restless energy building up inside him, he forces his mind to go over her words again.  
She isn’t saying that she loves him but that she is learning to, that she is at least part of the way there already. And that…  
He doesn’t even know any word in any language to describe that. His chest feels tight and heavy and light all at the same time. Like he might fly apart into a million pieces at any moment with some indescribable sensation. He might almost call it happiness, joy.  
And still all he can do is gape at her stupidly, holding one mental hand over the feeling to keep it from bubbling over.  
“You what?”  
Caution, he thinks. He’s always been a cautious person and he should be now, more so than ever. If he’s got it wrong he doesn’t want to jump in with both feet only to realize there is no ground to catch him at the bottom. But it’s hard with so much hope suffocating his lungs and climbing up his throat.  
So he holds the hope tightly, unwilling to let it spill over until he is more than sure.  
(It’s been such a long time since he let himself hope. It hurts to hold it back but the possible rewards are so close, so tantalizing, almost within his grasp. So _worth it._ )

Tobirama is tense like a drawn bow, leaning ever so slightly toward her, like a predator in sight of its prey: it’s a sudden, stark change in comparison with his dejected, bitter stance of before. His red eyes are dark and utterly focused on her, as if the rest of world just stopped existing - it’s a heavy thing, the full attention of a man like him. She can feel the weight of his gaze on her skin like a warm caress.  
Mito basks in it, lapping it up like a plant reaching for the sunlight, cocking her hip, bringing the red waterfall of her long hair over her shoulder to spill over her naked breasts like blood.  
“I said that I’ve been falling in love ever since I started courting you,” she says, crossing her arms under her breasts, utterly comfortable in her nakedness - even if the lingering warmth of sex is leaving her, the October chill making her shiver.  
If there’s something the clusterfuck she caused taught her, is how much his older brother’s opinion matters to Tobirama, so her next words are not chosen by chance, worried her new lover might deny himself the pleasure of love for fear of overstepping his bounds with his family: “Hashirama knows, and approves. He says he’d be happy for us.”  
Tobirama gives a trembling sigh at that, closing his eyes as if relieved of a great burden, and Mito’s smile sweetens, softens. “You can’t be my husband, but you could be the father of my children. You could be my partner for this lifetime.”  
Kami but she wants to hug him, kiss him, smooth the curve of his eyebrows. Staying still and keeping her hands to herself is probably the hardest thing she’s ever done - but she owes Tobirama to take the first step.

The feeling of hope inside of him breaks free of his hold like a rabbit leaping, bounding, carousing out of control. If she looks at his neck she might see the thundering of his pulse, heart kicking into overdrive.  
At his side his fingers twitch, hands fluttering with the urge to reach out, to touch her and pull her in towards him. She _loves_ him - or is starting to. She wants this. She wants more than to bear his children and the knowledge is enough to make him light-headed, sending his weight shifting back onto the heels on his feet.  
Even as he soars he feels slightly inadequate. Not as a person; if she loves him that is her choice and he won’t waste time telling her he doesn’t deserve her. (Even if he thinks it’s true.) Instead he feels inadequately qualified in his ability to react. He has no fancy words at his disposal, no poetry to fall to one knee and recite. No incredible exclamations to give her, even if he feels them.  
“Oh,” is all he has, barely a sound as he breathes it out. “Oh.”  
His eyes must be as wide as startled prey, though he feels more like the hunter crowing over a long-sought victory. This is all just a bit too incredible, him being handed the only thing he has ever dared to want for himself.  
She’s too far away. The moment he realizes it’s okay to touch her he craves it like a drowning man who needs her to breathe. Unsure of how to ask her to come closer, he lifts one hand hesitantly, holding it out in silence and praying that she takes it. 

He reaches out to her, his hand outstretched, palm upwards. He’s wearing the most open expression she’s ever seen on him, a hope so naked and bright and desperate it makes her heart clench and her breath stop in her throat.  
Mito wants nothing more than hold him close, reassure him, chase away all his worries - and this time she doesn’t resist the impulse, taking his hand and gently pulling him towards her. Docile, Tobirama comes to her like a river flowing into the sea, and she hugs him close, wrapping her arms around his neck.  
His own arms slide around her waist and he holds Mito tight, as if he fears she’ll disappear the moment he lets her go. Tobirama holds her so close she can feel him shaking, and she makes a soft shushing sound, carding her fingers through his hair, caressing his nape.  
“I love you,” Mito whispers in his ear, nosing his cheek and then kissing him, slow and gentle and deep, not an inch of space between their bodies. He’s warm and strong and fragile against her, and she will forever stand between him and any hurt.

Tobirama presses his face into her hair and closes his eyes. Her body fits against his own like broken pieces welding back together and she feels like home in a way nothing has for a very long time. She feels like peace and _I belong here._  
“I was not expecting that,” he murmurs because it’s true. He absolutely did not expect that, for a woman like her to find love in someone like him.  
His arms tighten, fingers digging into her velvet skin until he’s almost afraid of leaving bruises, but he can’t make himself let go. She’s like an anchor as a storm of emotions continues rocking his insides and he only needs to stay still for just a few more moments until it passes, until he can breathe properly again.  
“I love you,” he says, because now he can.  
“Stay.”

“Oh, my darling, my prince,” she says with a breathy laugh right onto his lips, cupping his cheek. “There is no power in these lands that could tear me away from you right now.”  
Mito’s thumb traces the slash on his right cheek, brushing the tip of his nose and the outline of his lips, and ends its path by following the slash down his chin.  
When she meets his gaze, she discovers he’s looking at her with half-lidded eyes, the vermillion of his irises flickering like shadows on water.  
“I love you,” she repeats, as much for herself as it is for Tobirama, brushing those long white eyelashes with a delicate fingerpad - and Tobirama lets her, lid fluttering like a butterfly’s wing under her touch. The show of trust fills Mito with wonder and love, her breath hitching as if she were about to cry.  
This, this is what she missed the most - the easy intimacy of loving someone, touching and glances and closeness and warmth freely shared.  
She rises on the balls of her feet, gently making Tobirama tilt his head so that she can lay a kiss on his forehead. “Come to bed,” she coaxes him, entwining her fingers with Tobirama’s, taking a step toward the bed, pulling him along.

A hum passes his lips, quiet and low. Words rush and crash together in his head, so many snarky comments that he would normally say, and he pushes them all back in favor of saying nothing. Now is _not_ the time for his natural defensiveness.  
It’s new for him, this getting what he wants. He’s hardly used to the universe being so kind. Now all he has to do is not fuck it up right from the start with his habit of harsh words and pushing people away. He doesn’t _want_ to push her away.  
Mito pulls him back to the bed still rumpled from before, laying herself across the sheets like a masterpiece of art. He pauses before getting in, taking a moment to enjoy the sight of her, the way her hair spills around her like red water. He settles on knees on the bed and lets it take his weight as he leans down to trace the shape of her with one hand.  
With an exasperated laugh she pulls him down until he is lying down beside her and honestly he’s just as satisfied with this too. He can’t see as well from here but he can touch better, wrapping her up in his arms once more.  
The longer they lay still the calmer he feels, the reality of everything sinking in finally. She _loves_ him. They may not ever be able to shout it from the rooftops but he isn’t the sort for that kind of thing anyway. He doesn’t need the world to know. All he needs is this: just the two of them and that sweet smile on her lips edged with an ever-present hint of danger and mischief.  
Tobirama hums again and waits until she looks up at him before smirking.  
“Mine,” he says, his voice almost a quiet growl.  
In the corner of his eye he can still sees the blooming bruises he left on her throat and he feels a little puffed up with pride. The world outside might not understand but he does. He’s marked his territory and he knows that when she looks at them in the mirror she will think of him - in all the same ways he thinks of her.  
He’s so happy he can barely stand himself.

Mito chuckles, wild and carefree and happy and pleased. “Mine,” she purrs in return, squirming to get into a more comfortable position - namely, fitting cozily against his side, her head on his shoulder, his arm curled around her back. He feels like he was made for her, perfect to hold her close.  
Tobirama’s short hair tickles her nose, and she nuzzles his neck, laying kisses and lazy nips. She doesn’t feel like sex again, but she simply can’t keep her hands or lips away from her lover’s pale skin. She’s addicted to his scent already, and will make sure to never go a day without smelling him.  
She fits her legs between his, and she’s displeased to feel cotton where there should be warm skin. “Take your trousers off,” she orders, rubbing her cheek against him like a happy cat.  
“Only my trousers?” Tobirama asks in return, and she doesn’t have to look up to know he’s wearing his smartass look, so she slaps him in the ribs. It makes a pleasing smacking sound, and she smirks into his shoulder. “You may keep your boxers if you wish, but take the pants off. I haven’t properly slept with a man since I left Whirlpool and I want to feel naked skin.”  
He huffs but complies, shrugging off the offending garments - displaying some impressive nimbleness, considering that Mito refuses to relinquish her comfortable spot, thus blocking him. Eventually, things quiet down, the two lying as close possible, holding each other, their legs entwined, naked skin against naked skin, Mito’s hair splayed on the pillows behind her, hopefully safe from any of them stepping on it.  
Between the warmth of Tobirama’s body and the blanket the man courteously pulled over them, Mito feels pleasantly warm and drowsy.

For a time the two of them simply drift, lounging against each other as he watches Mito’s eyes slowly droop lower and lower. She almost looks ready to fall asleep and he would follow he if not for his mind, ever at work, finally focusing on something other than the rush of her confession.  
His fingers pause where they have been absently tracing patterns on her skin, his palm pressing down between her shoulder blades as the content smile on his face fades just the tiniest bit.  
Sometimes he truly wishes he could turn his own brain off.  
The woman in his arms hums in lazy question when he sighs, his chest expanding with the motion until it lifts her body and disturbs her journey down in to slumber.  
“Was it worth it?” he asks quietly. She hums again. “You got what you were after all along; was it worth it?”  
Damn his own curiosity for ruining what had been such a pleasant moment. He know, however, that if they don’t talk about this now then they never will and the things left unsaid will fester forever inside of him. There’s already been too little communication between them until now. He might as well take a turn at being the one brave enough to start the conversation. 

His voice is soft, barely a whisper, but it shakes her as if he just shouted it.  
Mito keeps her eyes tightly shut, swallowing the knot in her throat.  
“No.” She doesn't look up, keeping her face firmly pressed against the crook of Tobirama's neck.  
“It wasn't.” She pretends not to be affected, but she knows the tension in her body betrays her - and yet, she can't make her muscles uncoil, not any more than she can stop her stomach from roiling.  
“Nothing is worth hurting you for. _Nothing_.”  
She keeps her voice low, but the guilt and shame and self-loathing are still so very close to the surface, threatening to smother her. She feels safe in Tobirama's arms - and how vile of her is that, to seek refuge in the arms of the very man she hurt with her vanity?  
“I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Tobirama. “

Her expression is hidden from him now but he doesn’t need it. The tension under his palm and the tone of her voice say all he needs to know about how much she regrets her actions. Which is good, he thinks. It probably doesn’t _feel_ good to her but it’s for the best. If she didn’t regret what she had done he doesn’t think he could trust her not to do it again.  
She curls in to him but for now he resists holding her closer. Comfort can wait until after they have spoken, after the hard words are out and the air between them in cleared.  
“I do love you,” he says, “and I’m glad to know that you feel the same. It’s...a relief. A wonder. But I also wish you had said something much earlier. It would have saved us both quite a lot of pain.”

What is she to say to that? He's right. She was arrogant, vain, selfish.  
“I know.” Mito knows it and Tobirama knows it, but she thinks he deserves to hear it one more time.  
“I should have. I fucked up.”  
She burrows even more against his side - she can't stand to look at him right now, shame making her feel sick and sad. “I'm sorry.”

He already knows that she is sorry and making her say it over and over is not his point so he lets it drop there. Her muscles are more tense than ever, shifting under the skin like writhing snakes the way he imagines both of their insides are writhing.  
“I can’t tell if we are a match made in heaven or a match made in hell,” he muses aloud. She had done something wrong, that much was certain. But how much of her actions was her own personality and how much was the influence of their lifestyle as shinobi? They had both been trained to lie and cheat from birth. Those lessons usually came even before learning how to kill. He might not like it but at the very least he can understand it.  
“You and I are either going to go up in flames or we’re going to terrorize this world. One or the other and I can’t decide which. One does hope for the second, however.”  
With that, Tobirama finally lets his arms wind about her shoulders again and hold Mito to him tightly. He doesn’t need many words, only the important ones, and he’s said all he needs to say. 

Mito gives a tiny chuckle at that, but her voice breaks halfway through, and she swallows again, her mouth strangely dry.  
“I will never, ever hurt you again. I-” she grasps for words - they usually come so easily to her, sweet and honeyed, and yet all that comes to her is rough, vague, imprecise.  
Fisting one hand in the sheets, she clenches her teeth.  
“I will never give you reason to doubt me. Please, believe me. I will make it up to you."  
She thinks to the hollow ghost she saw that night in his office, defeat and self loathing and anguish written on his face. She never wants to see him like that ever again.  
“Believe me. I'm- I'm just so sorry.”

Tobirama is a man who knows how to hold a grudge when he feels that someone deserves it. He knows how to feed the anger and let it simmer, how to wait patiently for the right moment to strike back.  
But that isn’t now. Now he slides one hand free from his grip in her back and slips his fingers under her chin. Mito resists his pull at first but he stays stubbornly silent until she follows the motion and allows him to bring her head up so that their eyes meet. She has such beautiful eyes, swimming with all of those nasty emotions he detests so much.  
His voice is but a whisper when he speaks, warm breath rushing from his lips to hers.  
“I know you are. And I forgive you.” 

‘ _You didn’t, not really_ ’ - she’s about to say it, but she swallows her words. His expression is soft, gentle, and Mito can't wrap her mind around this man could accept her, forgive her. Tobirama is too good for his own sake, as she damn well proved when she took advantage of him.  
She's not one to look in a gift horse's mouth, she won't try to convince him she doesn't deserve him.  
(But in the privacy of her mind, she knows he shouldn’t forgive her - knows that despite his words, deep inside of him, he likely _didn’t_ forgive her, not completely.)  
(It’s alright. He’s right not to trust her. She will be better. She will make it _right_. He deserves it.)  
“Thank you,” she tells him in a whisper. “You're too good for me.”  
From her comfortable position, Mito spies Tobirama from under her eyelashes, admiring the curve of his jaw, the line of his neck, her hands taking up again mindlessly caressing his chest. His words lifted the weight off her chest of a fraction and she feels - she feels happy, relieved, content. The guilt is there, making her stomach clench, but it doesn’t crush her anymore. Now there is hope, hope that she will be able to make things right.  
She doesn’t feel like sleeping quite yet, but she’s close. It was just… a lot of emotions all together. She feels like she needs some time to take it in - and in the meantime, she’s perfectly happy to cuddle her new lover.  
As if feeling her gaze, the Senju opens his eyes, giving her a small, secret smile. She leans up, he leans down, and they exchange a gentle kiss. Then another and another - and if they kept kissing like teenagers in love until sleep claimed them, that’s their business.  



End file.
